


A Carry On Dictionary

by AlixxBlack



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Gen, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mental Breakdown, Minor Character Death, a lover's dictionary, alphabet inspiration, baz hates agatha, crossdressing simon, david levithan, moderate swearing, penny x micah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:12:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 23,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlixxBlack/pseuds/AlixxBlack
Summary: This fanfiction follows Baz Pitch and the love of his life, Simon Snow, throughout their relationship from beginning to end. Chapters do not have to be read in any order. They were written to be read individually, although if you read them in order - I did follow a linear timeline. It is your choice - but please note the following warnings to determine if you should read the content of a specific chapter.WARNING: CHAPTER 6/F (Frenzy) is an explicit chapter with lots of swearing, sexual content, and references to homosexual intercourse. Please do not read this chapter if you are not at least 17 years of age. All other chapters are suitable for all ages. Please exercise good judgment while reading and look for chapter notes ahead of the text to determine if you should be reading that chapter or not.WARNING: Character deaths mentioned, both minor and major.WARNING: CHAPTER 23/W (Wrath) has moderate depictions of violence.





	1. Altruistic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ouranose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouranose/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humility means putting others before ourselves. Why is it so strange that Baz would do such a thing?

**altruistic; { al-troo-is-tik }**

**_unselfishly concerned for and devoted to the welfare of others._ **

* * *

“Is Simon up to having company?” Penny asks sheepishly from the other side of the door. Baz is standing in her way and shaking his head even though Simon would probably love nothing more than to have the company of someone besides his accused-but-not-proven-vampire roommate. Still, as sick as he is, it seems risky to let anyone else talk to him. He’s thrown up exactly seven times today already. Baz shakes his head at her.

“You might have more contagions and I’m afraid that I’ll have to reject your request to see him until he shows signs of improving health, Penelope,” he uses his most professional tone to ensure how incredibly serious he is about maintaining an isolated environment for Simon. Like, way more serious than he should be considering the state of his relationship with Simon, which is poor if it is to be described nicely.

Penny cocks her head to the side. When she doesn’t see him at a glance, her features soften, and she slumps her shoulders. “Does he need me to get his homework, then? I recorded the lectures today just in case…” her voice trails off, tilting herself forward at the sound of Simon calling out for Baz.

“I’ve taken care of it already, but you can e-mail the lectures to me so that I can have Simon watch them when he’s awake. I expect him to be out the rest of the week,” Baz details, watching Penny’s emotions go from shocked to concerned to stunned to blank. Right now, in her blank expression, she sort of twitches her mouth as if she wants to say something specific.

But she stops short and says something else entirely. “How uncharacteristically altruistic of you, Baz.”

That might seem true to her, but she has no idea what Simon Snow means to him. Baz cleans his side of the dorm when Simon is out late with Penny. Baz secretly refills his shampoo and conditioner so that he doesn’t have to worry about asking the Mage for supplies. Baz sneakily hides some of Simon’s favorite snacks in his dresser, backpack, and desk so that he has all of these opportunities to have a moment of joy in every single day of his life while they are at Watfrod. Uncharacteristic?

Only to her. But, alas, nobody will ever know the truth. “Consider this an investment in your future. If Simon doesn’t die, then I’ll never have to harass you.” It is clear to Penny that Baz won’t be giving her any explanations nor allow her to enter the room, so she is forced to turn her back to him and leave. Simon is still shouting out for Baz to come into the bathroom. The sound of him actually asking for Baz is heart wrenching in ways that he can never say.

Simon Snow Sick? Maybe it’s not his _worst_  nightmare but it is certainly up there. “Coming, Snow,” Baz breathes patiently. Even if he’s nursing him back to health, Baz can think of no better way to spend his entire week.


	2. Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you really can't assign blame to anyone.

**blame;** {bleym}

_to place responsibility for something on another_

* * *

It wasn’t that Agatha had done anything wrong, necessarily. As far as she’d been able to gather - Agatha was just talking to Baz. Penny had never once seen Baz _actually_  flirt with her either. Not any more than he flirted with most people, at least. Everything Baz says comes off as a flirt. So, no, Penny didn’t think Agatha was the absolute worst person on the entire planet.

But Penny couldn’t pretend her opinion of Agatha didn’t sink significantly when Simon watched her while she watched Baz while he coyly wrote Simon’s name on the corner of a blank page in his notebook while studying. Something about being separated from all of it just brought the whole mess heavily into focus. What Penny was looking at was, without a doubt, a really heartbreaking love triangle.

At the point we have Tyrannous Basilton ‘Baz’ Grimm Pitch, a relatively handsome young man with a roommate he pretends to hate but actually has a massive crush on in the most unhealthy way. The bottom right corner is Simon, sticking a little bit further out than the bottom left corner which has a straight up edge facing Baz, which is where Agatha is sitting. Simon is convinced he’s in love with Agatha while Agatha is confusing her feelings to get away from Simon with feelings for Baz. This scalene right triangle of Simon, Baz, and Agatha may not seem monumental right now but someday, the habits and scars created here will affect how they function in all future relationships.

Seeing this geometrical pattern is all Penny can do to stop herself from placing blame on any of the three. For all that she is and for all that she knows, these three people are her friends and peers. On some level, she does respect them all. Even though it would be easy to look at Agatha and convince herself that it was all her fault, Penny knows better.

They all played a role in this and they’ll all have to play a new one to get out of it. Until then, Penny saddles up to Agatha and places a hand delicately on her shoulder. Her head barely moves so that Baz stays in her line of vision but she does smile. Somewhere in there is a girl trapped inside of herself. So Penny takes a seat on the bench next to her and opens up a grape soda. “I was thinking we could catch a movie tonight after school just us? I think we both need a break from campus, don’t you?”

Agatha’s sigh reveals the part of her that she thinks doesn’t exist. Heavy and light at the same time; dark and innocent as if she’s been hiding from herself form the beginning. A fetus of a feeling, really. “You know what? I couldn’t agree more, Penny. Let’s do it.”

Blaming Agatha isn’t fair. But neither is blaming Simon or Baz either. Penny hates the blame game. And she’ll do everything she can to help them realize this same thing.


	3. Caricature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since when is doing caricatures therapeutic?

**caricature, {kar-i-kuh-cher};**

**a picture, description, etc., ludicrously exaggerating the peculiarities or defects of persons or things**

 

* * *

 

 

I didn’t like the idea. There’s enough about my appearance that I find issue with as it is, let alone enhancing that internalized fear of judgment with a ‘therapy’ activity designed to make us see our flaws as art. Baz, of course, loved it. So I had to agree to try it out. I had to.

Right?

Maybe I’m just a bit soft for giving Baz everything he could want and need. During our years at Watford, it was no secret that my self-esteem was shaky at best. Everyone knew I doubted myself. It was different for Baz. He oozed confidence, defined poise, and reeked of arrogance. Not only was he hiding the doubt that ate away at him because he was secretly a vampire, but he was hiding the fact that he was gay, too. Baz suffered so greatly inside that all I wanted for him was happiness. 

If this ridiculous caricature activity was supposed to a therapy tactic, then fine. I’ll do it. Besides, I already know what Baz is going to draw: wings and a tail. How badly can it hurt? Certainly not anymore than it already hurts.

“Are you ready?” Baz barges into my bedroom with a smile spread across his face. I’ve been studying him the last few days. Sometimes, you look at someone for so long that you don’t always remember every single feature. I’d forgotten how narrow Baz’s face was, and how large of a hook his nose had, and especially how his figure is angular. Pointy shoulders, hips drawing an arrow to his feet that always sport neatly polished dress shoes.

The thing that always stands out to me, though, is his long hair. Despite being a vampire with a stereotypical appearance, Baz certainly doesn’t look it. He has this long hair, darker than night, and it’s just there. Sometimes he wears it loose but other times he wears it in a bun at the back of his head. I’ve even seen him wear half of his hair up in a ponytail or a bun too. Baz looks _modern_ compared to the archaic appearance of most vampires.

I’m not sure when I decided to accentuate Baz’s hair length and his legs but I must’ve made that choice because as we’re sitting with this video playing in the background, guiding us on moving our sharpies smoothly over the page and not worrying greatly about mistakes. Just draw what we ‘see’ in the other person. 

I _really_ hope Baz didn’t pay for this video because it’s kind of trash.

“What are you drawing?” I dare to ask him, wondering what it is he sees in me more than everything else. I know it’s my wings and my tail. I _know_ it. Asking him does nothing but show him that I’m nervous. I don’t want to be nervous but I am.

Baz makes me feel that way all the time. The way he laughs at my question is no exception. And then he shoots my thoughts down easily with a breath. “Not what you would expect, I’m sure.”

“You?” He says after a quick pause. “Well, let’s say that you don’t look like a vampire in this one.”

Baz must’ve been worried about me focusing on his vampire...ness? He hid it for so long; he’s still a monster to most people. Why wouldn’t he be concerned about it? I hate to admit that I’m starting to see why people do this and how it can be so effective. 

Time moves differently when you’re doing art. I kind of like it. It makes sense that so many people would want to do it. Baz finishes some time after I do, so I take this time to eat my fill of muffins and scones – which are always in good stock in Baz’s kitchen. He doesn’t need the kitchen but he wanted it ready for the nights when I stay over. I’m convinced that I don’t deserve him, honestly.

“Done!” He shouts unexpectedly. I guess I thought he’d go on all day, making his masterpiece and proving himself this fabulous artiste. When we reveal, though, I see that he was just being a supreme smart ass. “Pointillism!” 

“This was a fucking caricature, you sod!” Simon shouts in protest. His eyes fall over his cartoony figure that is dark and tall with hair spilling over the ‘floor’ of the page looking as shiny as drawn hair can look. Then there’s this dotted out picture of Simon. Tan dots everywhere but with an absurd number of black dots everywhere that his bare skin would be showing. “You can’t be serious.”

“You have so many freckles,” Baz smiles, “and I think it’s great but also it’s the only thing I see when I look at you. Simon Snow and all of his freckles! I didn’t know that polka dots could be so sexy.”

Simon groans. Maybe he’s mad. Maybe he’s trying not to laugh. Maybe he’s feeling sentimental. And also maybe, just maybe, he was to snog Baz for being such a horny dork. Either way, he gestures at his own piece of work and scoffs. “Well, I think you’re just long. A long person with long hair.”

“You don’t even know yet,” Baz snarks with a curling smirk over his lips. Rolling my eyes is all I can do to not smack him for his absurdly absurdness.


	4. Deplorable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny thinks she can force the boys to fix their problems by making them kiss each other one hundred times underneath the mistletoe.

**deplorable; {dih-plawr-uh-buh-l}**

**causing or being a subject for grief or regret; lamentable action**

 

* * *

 

 

Watching Simon and Baz try to deal with each other in this awkward romantic minefield is hardly what Penny would consider to be fun. For a year Simon has been keeping Baz in this are-we-aren’t-we limbo while Baz has been treading softly the line between caring too much and not enough. Something about them isn’t quite syncing up yet and, honestly, her working theory is that they’ve put too much distance between themselves. Baz is living on campus at the London School of Economics while Simon is working odd jobs doing seasonal working here and there when business requires extra hands.

Simon thought that because Baz had been his roommate at Watford that they’d shared too much time together to really learn how to be a healthy couple living apart. Perhaps that was true at first, but now? Penny is sure that if they don’t get the nudge they need to be reminded that their feelings are larger than their fears. 

That’s why Penny upped the ante by hanging mistletoe everywhere. Not just in doorways, not just by windows, but literally every six inches there’s mistletoe hanging from the wall. It’s not in a perfectly straight line, either, so that no matter what, there will be kissing. Penny personally wants to see Simon and Baz kiss each other at least one hundred times before midnight.

Because at midnight Micah is going to propose-ish… 

There have been talks for a couple of weeks that at the end of Penny’s break year that she would accept an internship overseas to be closer to Micah. Their long distance relationship has remained strong and loving despite the odds against them, and the thousands of leagues too. Of course, the plan was always that they would reunite either in American or in London. Leaving her family behind would be hard but in the end, it was Micah who would have to give up a job. Penny had nothing to lose. She was a good enough at Watford that she could easily attend anywhere should she wish.

Anyway, Baz arrives at the flat before Simon gets off of work. Being a non-imbecile, he notices the mistletoe straight away. “What’s your game, Bunce?” 

“All of the kisses, Basilton. All – of – the – kisses!” Her plan wouldn’t work if she didn’t have a partner in crime. She doesn’t explain everything, such as the proposal (which is really Micah officially inviting her to America by giving her a copy of his house key and a lease agreement which would add her name to the contract). Penny doesn’t even tell him why she wanted to do this. Baz doesn’t ask either. 

In fact, he shakes his head, “You’re deplorable, you know. He thinks you’re this pure scholar with no ill intent. But this?” Baz gestures all around the flat to make his point. He laughs and then continues, “This you telling him how to be in a relationship. I don’t exactly want to push him away.”

Penny shrugs, setting her mouth to the side and at an angle. Worry grabs her features and forms them in such a way that it reflects her thoughts. Even if she doesn’t need to actually convey to him what she thinks might be happening, she does. “You guys have this invisible chasm settled between you. I’m not sure that either of you even sees it.”

Baz considers this and waves her off once he’s tossed the concept to the side. Before he leaves to the living room, though, he mutters over his shoulder. “I’d consider myself lucky to get one kiss. Let alone one hundred of them.” The sharpness of his words is indescribable. Penny can’t forcibly fix their relationship any more than she can tell them how to live their lives. With Baz being a vampire and Simon sporting cartoony wings and a tail, there is no ‘normal’ for them. She could never truly understand. Love is something that she does understand, though, and she can see it in their eyes.

“Deplorable?” she whispers, peeking out the door to the street where Simon would soon be dropped off. “I thought I was more desperate, really.” In a huff, she slams the door shut and walks straight to her bedroom where Micah is talking a nap. She curls up next to him and huffs dramatically this time to wake up her boyfriend.

“Hm?” With half closed eyes, Micah listens as she gossips about the boys. Here and there he makes a comment. In the end, she admits that she knows she is pushing too hard. She just wants Simon and Baz to be happy, especially before she leaves. Once she accepts Micah’s offer, she’ll be leaving within the month. She wants to start the New Year by his side in America.

Meanwhile, Baz is sitting on the couch. If Penny is deplorable, then what does that make him? For months he has been stressed about the ‘chasm’ developing between them. Aside from that, he couldn’t remember the last time Simon has kissed him with great passion. He’s lucky to get a peck on the cheek anymore. Surely something has upset him, but was it Baz or someone else? Helping Simon is impossible if he doesn’t ask for it, and especially if he doesn’t let on that there’s even a problem. 

There are other words that Baz thinks of that describe the way everything feels in this lull between years. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve but only just a few days ago it was Christmas. The time between holidays is this rift of yearning for something new while clinging to something old. Baz wants to revive his relationship, destitute and hopeless as it feels, but a part of him can’t help wanted to be free of the debacle entirely. If Simon isn’t ready – then why pretend to be a couple? 

They’re not even that, really.

Simon interrupts his thoughts with a loud thud. “I’m alright!” he shouts, clearly having slipped and fallen on the ground. Baz rubs his hands over his face, effectively pushing the loose strands of hair out of his eyes and behind his ears. Standing with a great deal of effort, Baz decides that the only way to move forward is with honesty. He meets Simon at the door underneath the first mistletoe.

Arm stretched straight up, he is pointing directly to the leaves and berries. “Kiss me,” he directs. “Kiss me under every mistletoe in this house or leave me.” 

“Okay?” Simon hesitates for a moment but then rolls onto his toes and kisses Baz on the lips. It is a lazy exchange. That doesn’t matter, though, because it still is an exchange. “May I ask what brought this on?”

Baz shakes his head. An understanding forms between them. It hurts too much to say. Simon won’t push him anymore than Baz would. This ultimatum he’s presented to Simon, it’s Baz’s way of talking. Never having been the sort to express himself plainly, it has always been an action-based form of communication between them. The only surprise is that Simon accepted it without protest.

So they moved six inches backwards. Their steps aren’t in sync, their movements are uncomfortable at best, and their kiss is reminiscent of teenagers fumbling through an awkward smooch than anything else. Incremental improvements are made as they slink through the hallway into the kitchen where they break apart only long enough for Simon to eat a red velvet donut leftover from breakfast. It is adorned with green frosting and red sprinkles. He washes it down with strawberry milk, which personally makes Baz sick to his stomach.

“Need a break?” he remarks with as little sass as he can possibly manage while Simon stares at him with a distinctly blank expression. For a split second his brown scrunch together and then his features flatten once more. “No, why would you think that?” 

“Then where to?” 

Simon takes an unexpected step towards him, sliding his hand around his waist and pulling him close. They are pressed against one another when Simon tilts his chin up just enough to signal for Baz to dip down. This kiss in tender in a way the previous ones hadn’t been and the linger flavors in Simon’s mouth is alluring. He not only tastes human but he tastes of decadence.

Moving towards the living room doesn’t take much time, even with the breaks for their kissing, and once they get to the couch, it is Simon who pulls Baz by the belt loop onto his lap. They sit here without kissing, and it looks quite silly since Baz is much larger than Simon, but there he stays with his buttocks planted against Simon’s knees. “Penny’s going to move.” 

It shouldn’t have come as such a shock to Baz, and yet it did. Micah had come to Christmas and he wasn’t staying long, but he brought three very large suitcases. It should’ve been obvious. He was going to ask Penny to go back with him. She had nothing going on here. Her income was tutoring money she earned by helping students at Watford. Penny hadn’t even considered getting a more permanent job during the year she’d been out of school, either. This was always the plan. 

“I’m sorry, mate,” Baz’s entire body softens against his partner. “Do you know what you’re going to do about the flat?” 

Simon decidedly doesn’t reply. Instead, he pushes Baz off and readjusts on the couch so that they can lay there watching television. It was something that Simon absolutely enjoyed and eventually became one of Baz’s favorite pastimes. Lounging around with the best person in the whole world, in his opinion anyway, had a variety of benefits for his mental and emotional health. It took a lot more effort to peel himself away than to sink back against Simon, and that seemed like a pretty great thing to Baz. 

Penny and Micah slink out eventually but they don’t say much. The four of them watch a couple of movies that were just added to Netflix and the chill, in the innocent way and old fashioned way, until Micah and Penny decide it’s time for dinner. Simon never decides because he’d eat nonstop all day. Baz would have to compete with the food for access to the redhead’s mouth. 

Of course, Baz is in that predicament anyway, so maybe it wouldn’t have been too bad after all.

“I was thinking take-out. Anyone opposed to subs?” Nobody speaks up and so Penny gets the orders from everyone, except Baz, who asks for a bottled water. Since being outed as a vampire, he doesn’t bother faking it for his friends. He’ll drink occasionally but never more than that. With paper in hand, Penny and Micah offer to grab the food and bring it back without even inviting the boys. As far as Baz is concerned, he would rather stay home anyway.

Simon says he wants to go plug his phone in and invites Baz along for the ‘ride.’ As instructed, they kiss every six inches all the way to his door. The pecks that Simon granted to Baz over the last five or six months make the kisses the share now look explicit. Their tongues dance over one another, deeper and harder each step closer they take to his bedroom.

Once inside, there are no mistletoes, but it doesn’t deter the boys. Breaking long enough to close the door and _actually plug in Simon’s phone_ , they are soon full and proper snogging on the bed. Little more can be said about their activity until Baz pulls away and looks in Simon’s eyes. “I want you to know that this wasn’t entirely my idea, and I’m kind of a prick for saying you had to kiss me so many times.”

Simon shrugs, “I figured it must be important to you. Wouldn’t have asked otherwise, right?”

“I didn’t ask,” he laments, guilt apparent in every way on his body. “It wasn’t right for me to demand it.” 

Sitting up and curling himself into a bit of a pretzel, silence settles in the space between them. It isn’t an uncomfortable sort of quiet, though, because it is clear that they both need it. The reality of it all comes down to one simple truth: they weren’t lost, just busy. When Simon fills the room with his voice, he chirps his acceptance of the terms in a kind tone; “I don’t have the same sort of urges that you do so I think I forget that you need that affirmation. Sometimes I don’t even realize that I want you that way until you make the first move. I’m sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Simon, and you bloody well know it,” Baz barks in prompt reply. It isn’t Simon’s fault that their cravings for physical affection is mismatched. It isn’t Baz’s fault either. Not once did he ever pressure Simon to do something he didn’t want to do, and the fact that he’d presented an ultimatum with the mistletoe made him feel worse than deplorable. “I don’t deserve you and the only person here that should be apologizing is me.”

“Nobody has anything to be sorry about and I think we should pink swear to drop it,” Simon declares with waving arms and a squeaky voice. This was quite enough chatting for the pair of them, honestly. The time had come to move onto whatever topic they could discuss next that wasn’t nearly as heavy and serious. But before they do, Baz makes a proper request.

“Can we seal it with a kiss?”

Growling with a low rumble that sends chills down Baz’s spine, Simon makes a move towards the vampire with his wings spread and his tail wagging back and forth. It is corny in the most attractive way. “It’d be my pleasure.”


	5. Elope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz sneaks out of Penny's wedding reception because he can't eat, but maybe that's not the only reason.

**elope, {ih-lohp}**

**to run off secretly to be married**

 

* * *

 

 

There are nights that you never forget, and not even because of the things that happened. Some nights the air is so crisp and fresh that it can be left on the tongue for hours. The sky is so dark that the stars don’t seem so far away. Each and every step over the earth and its many decorations has a strong feeling of significance, even if the steps are to nowhere in particular. 

Baz feels this way as he wanders away from the reception hall. Inside the guests were eating and toasting and cheering and those wonderful proper things that humans can do without worry of illness. Lying about his dietary habits is easy enough but it grows tiring, and quickly at events of this size. Instead, he pardoned himself to the restroom. Better they think he’s having a bit of ‘tummy trouble’ than ask him again if he has an eating disorder.

Penny Bunce, or rather Missus Penelope Monroe…

Memories of the last day she’d spent overnight in London flood Baz’s brain. On that same day he moved back in with Simon. Not unlike this night, he knew it was something he would never forget the instant he took a deep breath inside the taxi. Returning to this comfortable life with Simon that he’d grown to miss, crave even, was all he could have asked for in the New Year. After Penny left, things began to fall into place a little more quickly, though not necessarily in the traditional ways.

For example, Simon isn’t as physically motivated as Baz, so they have different ways of communicating their desires. Baz hangs a necktie on the key rack when he’s feeling neglected. Simon will put an upside down glass on the coffee table when he definitely isn’t interested in physical affection, though when he is feeling quite the opposite he’ll move the cactus from the coffee table to the kitchen table. Perhaps it is unconventional but it works. Since then, they’ve become far more open about actually discussing what they want from each other intimately.

Aside from that, Simon got a job as a receptionist with an accounting firm. It barely qualifies as full-time job but the hours are nice and the schedule has allowed the pair of them to start going on proper dates and become a more traditional couple. So many positive things have changed that Baz can hardly believe it’s only been eight months since Penny moved to America.

Marriage. 

Sometimes, on rare occasions, Baz considers what his future will look like with Simon. Baz _can_ die. There’s no doubt about it. The unknown variable is more in regard to how _long_ he will live naturally. Simon is still young and he has a few years before aging will set in and create visual distinction between them. However, that time will come. How will it affect them? What will people think or say when Simon is old and grey with a young man in great health fawning over him in what will unmistakably be a romantic way.

Could Baz ever get married to Simon?

There had been jokes made and daydreams where the thought had crossed his mind but never in this serious of a manner. Hanging his head low, Baz gloomily kicks small pebbles off of the sidewalk. More than anything, this life with Simon, he wanted it to be his whole story. From beginning to end: Simon Snow and Baz Pitch against the world (and the odds, sometimes). Cliché? Yes. Gay? Definitely. Boring? Perhaps, but that’s what made it so worth living! 

“Who sneaks out of a wedding reception, Basilton?” Simon’s gruff voice erupts the city silence, which is distinctly difference from actual silence. There’s noise everywhere but none of the sounds belong to people. When you are surrounded by the city’s silence, it is a suffocating sense of stillness despite all the things moving so loudly in all directions. Though he went outside to be free of the social structure and obligation of the other guests, he welcomes Simon warmly. Mostly, anyway.

Hands stuffed in pockets and chin tucked against his chest, Baz replies in a weak tone of just barely enough interest to be convincing. “I only care about one wedding, my good sire, and I am afraid to admit that this simply isn’t the right one.” His laugh is nervous at best. Red hair bouncing and frizzing from the last tendrils of summer’s humidity, Simon not only closes the distance between them but fills it completely. Not even a second passes before Baz forgets that it was every empty to begin with.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but,” Simon’s cocky tone captures Baz’s attention. Well, locks onto it rather. He was already paying attention but this ensures that his mind doesn’t stray to this thought or that one. Every sense is dialed onto Simon Snow and how he plans to finish this thought. “But that sounds like a question pretending to be a statement.”

It certainly hadn’t been his intention, though the smile that curls his lips without permission betrays the reality of his commentary. “Not at all my aim, I assure you.”

“So we’re not eloping then?” Raised brows and lips pressed into a straight line across his face, Simon reveals in no way that he’s being serious or hiding the fact that he’s joking. Baz stands there without changing his expression or body language in any way. It remains awkwardly tense until Simon simply repeats the question. “Not going to elope since you don’t like weddings, huh?”

Baz nudges Simon with the knuckle of his left forefinger, applying a small amount of pressure to his shoulder with each point of contact. Does he ask? Does he wait? Or does he admit that he would like nothing more than to be married to him – right now – yesterday, even! He settles for something less expressive. “It’s not off table, if that’s what you’re trying to get at, Snow.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Let’s go do what?” Baz coughs, “Elope?”

Simon shrugs his shoulders, moving backwards in a wobbly sort of jog. “Yeah, why not? Not chicken are you?”

“Race you there, then,” Baz says. And he doesn’t really know where he’s going, so they’re most just racing to this unknown place in the future together. Maybe they get married, maybe they don’t, but they both want to and that’s where they are running. Truth be told, though, Baz really wouldn’t be opposed to marrying Simon right there under the night sky… so dark that the stars look close enough to be touched… Kissed even... 

And between those kisses, Simon admits that he knows a place. He’d been looking into it all day just in case he got up the nerve to ask. If Baz had asked, Simon wouldn’t stand to wait for a proper ceremony. As it turns out, though, the fiery young man didn’t even have the patience to wait for his boyfriend to ask.

Oh yes, this is a night Baz will never forget, and not even because he’s getting married on a whim. This is a night that easily sows itself into the fabrics of the mind. It asked to be special; it came to be significant because it demanded to be so.


	6. Frenzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz has been sexually frustrated for seven years and, you know what, all things come to an end eventually.  
> And literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUCH EXPLICIT.  
> SO SEXUAL CONTENT.  
> NOT SAFE FOR BABY BIRDS (OR BABY HUMAN EYES).  
> RECOMMEND FOR AGES 17+ older than that.
> 
> XXX
> 
> SUCH EXPLICIT.  
> SO SEXUAL CONTENT.  
> NOT SAFE FOR BABY BIRDS (OR BABY HUMAN EYES).  
> RECOMMEND FOR AGES 17+ older than that.
> 
> XXX
> 
> SUCH EXPLICIT.  
> SO SEXUAL CONTENT.  
> NOT SAFE FOR BABY BIRDS (OR BABY HUMAN EYES).  
> RECOMMEND FOR AGES 17+ older than that.
> 
> XXX
> 
> YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, DO NOT READ AS BABY BIRD (OR BABY HUMAN). PLEASE WAIT/READ THE NEXT CHAPTER.  
> BE WISE, BE SAFE, AND PLEASE BE 17+ FOR THIS CHAPTER.

**frenzy, {free-zee};**

**a fit or spell of violent wild excitement; a characteristic resulting from mania**

* * *

 

 

Listen. I never planned on being a virgin until I was twenty-two. Puberty didn’t escape me, and neither did the raging hormones and cravings for sexual satisfaction. I’ve been sexually frustrated since I was fifteen years old, okay, and the plan was just to find someone succulent enough to share myself with… But also someone I didn’t have to worry too much about if I bit them…

It was a complicated puberty, okay?

Of course, then things took off with Simon. Penny moved to America and I moved back in. We got married on a whim. Things were moving in a positive direction, and it’s not that we _never_ did sexual things. Hands wandered and so did mouths. I can’t complain about the amount of sexual release I’ve been able to find with Simon over the years. But there was no actual _sex_. The truest truth is that I wanted to have sex.

It took months for me to find the courage to explain to Simon that I was craving a whole lot more from him, and not really in this innocent ‘I want to have all of you because I love you’ sort of way. Honestly, it was a bit primal the way I wanted him. I know how fucked up that sounds. _What, vamp boy, you can’t handle blue balls?_ As if ‘blue balls’ are a real thing. Come on! 

Having this primal hunger to be inside of Simon makes me feel weak and disgusting. That’s why it took so long to fess up that I’ve been struggling to keep my desires at bay for _three years, oh my fucking god have we really been married that long?_ When I revealed that I’m basically a walking, talking, massive boner all the time, he was actually pretty chill about it. “Okay. I’ll let you know in a couple of days when I’m ready.”

Simon killed whatever romance there could have been in our first time (and first time together) in one fell swoop. I’m ashamed to say that it was kind of hot and that it only made me hornier for the days that followed. I’d completely forgotten that it was my birthday that Thursday. So, I guess he had this whole ‘redemption arc’ planned for the obvious lack of love in this sex business.

There I was Thursday night, sitting on the couch ignoring my phone because it was a temptation to watch pornography and look at pictures of Simon that only made the problem in my pants worse. I was drinking alcohol that wouldn’t affect me while watching a documentary about the Holocaust. Desperation weaved every fiber of my being into a tight knot that was battling against my conscience. Someone needed to get a pressure washer and hose me down for the filth that I’d become.

I barely noticed Simon coming into the flat. I heard him but I ignored him because today wasn’t a good day. Earlier when I’d take a shower? I brushed the curtain getting out and it reminded me of Simon running his fingernails down my back. The amount of aggressive breathing I had to do to get my pants on was ridiculous, embarrassing, and insulting. When did I lose control of my own body and mind?

“Baz, can you come help me really quick?” Nothing about his voice sounded suggestive or different, and even in my perverse state of mind I didn’t consider what I was about to walk into when I met Simon in the kitchen. What normal person expects to see a naked man just sitting on the counter sucking on a popsicle. My life is not one of Simon’s bookmarked, raunchy slash fictions. So, like a normal person, I didn’t really think – Ah, yes, my boyfriend is going to be naked on the counter seductively sliding a red popsicle in and out of his mouth in a way that will leave me dumbfounded and drooling.

Nope. I expected him to be frowning with a jar of pickles in his hand because he couldn’t open it. That’s what normally happens when Simon needs me to help him ‘really quick’ in the kitchen. Holy fucking hell! I stopped dead in my tracks and I looked at him, and with my best poker face I ask him the only question that I can fucking manage, right?

“So I guess you’re ready.”

Simon jumps from the counter and it’s not graceful in the slightest. He grazes his arse against the edge of the counter and smacks his left elbow on the back of a chair trying to regain his balance. This dragon boy bastard also drops his popsicle on the floor. Those puppy dog eyes stared at me in complete shock because he hadn’t read a fanfiction that didn’t go exactly according to plan. Porn doesn’t typically go that way, right, so he is stood there not sure what is supposed to happen next because it’s already off script. So I improvised and picked up the goddamn popsicle and threw it in the trash. “Smooth, Simon. So fucking smooth.” 

Still undressed and bare, Simon gathered the wet wipes from the hallway closet where we kept all of our cleaning stuff. He held the container while I wiped off the residue from well the popsicle fell. Once I dry the spot with a paper towel, my hands go into my pockets, and what I liar I’d be if I don’t admit to stroking myself just a smidge, but I stood there waiting for the show to get back on the road.

Simon popped his hip to the side and made a weird sort of moan. I’m not sure if it was in pain or arousal or was just an attempt to set the mood again. Regardless, it did the job for me. I’m not convinced I didn’t fracture something when I pushed Simon against the nearest wall and smashed my face into his, and drug my teeth down his jaw and back up to the crook of his neck.

I think my favorite thing about Simon being completely naked was that I was definitely _not_ naked. My arousal was restrained, nearly hidden, while Simon was my opposite in that respect. I could feel him stiffen against my leg and I could see his ragged breathing. I only stopped licking, biting, and kissing Simon long enough to listen to what he had to say when he put his hands on my shoulders and held me a few inches away from him. “Let’s not do this in the kitchen. I was sort of planning for us to get to the bedroom…”

I have never picked someone or something up so fast. My chin slid against his chest as I wrapped my hands around his thighs. More coordinated than Simon Snow as I am, I made it to the bedroom without bumping anything _while_ still kissing this fool.

I’m not sure there is an appropriate way to describe how fast I took my clothes off once I slammed the door shut and tossed Simon onto the bed – which he covered in rose petals, _I shit you not._ I was in a complete frenzy, I think, just manically trying to get naked and get myself pressed against Simon so hard that there would be no discernable way to distinguish our two separate bodies. I don’t remember how many times I asked Simon is he was sure that he was ready, and I’m not even sure if it was coherent. But Simon did say he wanted me several times. So, that was it, right? We both wanted it, even if I was basically a deranged and wild sex monster.

There was more dialogue. We discussed who was going to be the ‘top’ and the ‘bottom.’ Basically, it was all to determine where our cocks were going to be and how we were going to come. It was decided that Simon was more ready to be a bottom than a top, and that we would ‘hump that hurdle’ when the time arose. Yeah, he said ‘hump’ and I just pretended he didn’t so that we could get it on. Literally. 

As for the actual act, I don’t need to recount all of that in great detail, right? Because how imaginative and new could our gay sex have been? Penis insertion, hip thrusting, moaning, groaning, and maybe I nibbled a lot (but I was careful because a vampire dragon is possibly just a little too over the top, in my opinion). There were names called and swears shouted. I came in Simon, protection included by the way, and then Simon came on our pillows. Afterwards, we laid there sort of staring at the ceiling and occasionally reminding each other how great we were and how great _it_ was…

And then Simon fucking Snow, love of my life and aspiring comedian apparently, rolls onto his side and pokes my goddamn nose. I can’t make this shit up, seriously. He pokes my nose and smiles. “Excuse me, mister, but last I’d heard, you were a vampire. Can you explain to me why you howled like a werewolf as you climaxed?”

That, ladies and gentlemen, is where I end the story of my first time. I lost my virginity to a boy with dragon wings and a tail with bouncy red hair. It should have been more romantic, and if he’d not been such a clumsy sod, perhaps it might’ve been. Instead I got this oh-so-hilarious story that literally starts with someone dropping a popsicle and ends with the question, _“Why did the vampire howl like a werewolf?”_  

Losing my virginity, at age twenty-two no less, ended up like the plot line to a very poorly written fanfiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written after a joke was made about Baz howling like a wolf, and then I wrote it, and when it was a fully fleshed story... I guess it was decided between me and a friend that it should be shared with the world.
> 
> If I have made a terrible mistake... Forgive me.


	7. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grass is green. Baz hates that.

**green, {green};**

**covered with herbage or foliage; of the color**

 

* * *

 

            “He doesn’t deserve it,” Baz groaned to me with a roll of his head. Something about his tone was raw and light though the words were harsh and heavy. I brushed my shoulder against him very intentionally, bobbing my head around towards his so that we might knock lighting into one another. He’d moved by then, though. “He doesn’t deserve this earthy plot surrounded by mossy rocks and lively trees. It’s too natural and magnificent.”

            I hooked my arm around his and let my hand sink. His fingers were balled into a fist. I pried his grip free from itself and then used my hand to fill the empty space created by opening his hand. Cold as ever, I share my warmth with him in spite of the sunshine adding vibrancy to the beautiful gravesite in front of us. To me, it made sense that he would have this luxurious place of resting, though I am surprised he’s not in a proper mausoleum. That level of grandiose seemed more in line with what I’d heard and knew about Baz’s father.

            Despite the negativity that has always loomed over the relationship that Baz had with his father, though, I never expected him to be angry. “You don’t mean it,” I grumbled to him, more hoping that he didn’t than believing it myself. “Oh, you don’t even know how much I mean it.”

            I guess I hadn’t, either, because Baz described the man he knew as a child. He looked on Natasha with eyes filled with love and affection. Malcolm’s voice was different and his smile was wider. “That man was my dad, and the further away from five years old I got, the deader that man became to me,” the declaration came with the confidence I heard in his voice when he calmed from me from a nightmare or reminded me that our love is enduring despite the odds against us. I couldn’t doubt the he meant his words but still he continued.

            Malcolm remarried Daphne, and with that marriage came four more children. Though Baz often acted as if he were an only child, he wasn’t, and try as he might to forget that they were a part of his life, they never were erased from his memory. Mordelia, Ourania, Sophia, and Charis left proof of their existence everywhere, most prominently in Malcolm’s schedule. “I invited him to dine with us close to holidays but he never replied. He never even sent formal invitations to join his brood for their holiday festivities!”

            I should’ve seen it coming, the bit that came next. Baz had often said that they were travelling abroad or were holding it on a day he had work matters to attend to first. He sent gifts, though, so it never seemed terribly impossible to me. Then Baz opened his heart and freed himself of the lies. More than I could have ever known, Malcolm Grimm was the source of much of Baz’s hatred.

            “He never sent anything to us. As soon as I married you it was the end of whatever appearances we’d been keeping. Those gifts for your birthday, Christmas, the cards he sent, it was nothing but trickery. I learned to forge his signature long ago,” and though a normal person would have been furious, I was just deflated. The charades that Baz kept up to keep my from thinking I’d taken his family away from him; that I was the reason his father gave him up. “So he doesn’t deserve this beautiful landscape. Thick stems making fresh roses magicked to stand tall? Leaves on trees never turning brown or red? He’s surrounded by all of this green, thriving plant life. But he never cared for it. Malcolm Grimm cared for nothing but himself.”

            I did what any good partner does in these situations.

            “Fuck him, then,” and I dragged him away back to the car. Malcolm didn’t deserve this scene? Fine, but Baz didn’t deserve to be haunted by the memory of man who decided that his son wasn’t good enough. “Fuck him. Seriously. His loss is my gain!”

            I do the driving now because I can, and that’s generally how it goes anyway because Baz does his work from the passenger’s seat. As we drive away, though, I watched him in my peripheral vision as best as I could. Not once do I see him cock his head to the side or lift his eyes to the rearview to glance the scene behind us. Just to make sure that we’re definitely on the same page, I remark deliberately, “The grass might be greener on the other side, but I think the fruit over here is sweeter.”

            “I swear if that’s a double meaning, Snow, I’ll make you pay,” Baz snorts.

            “Proimse?”


	8. Highlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people highlight their notes, some people highlight their hair, and other people have to highlight their lives... just that they have something left to hope for...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though this chapter is far from mature or explicit, there are allusions to sexual intercourse with characters happening "off screen" (were this a film piece). It is never address in sexual language and should be appropriate for readers ages 14 and up. Please use discretion when reading and be reminded that these characters are 1) consensually engaging; 2) being safe; and 3) have healthy relationships; and 4) if you're religious and marriage matters, they are -in fact- married characters too.

**highlight, {hahy-lahyt};**

**to emphasize or make prominent**

 

* * *

 

            Baz walks into the living room with his fingers brushing through his sloppy hair, darker than the circles under his eyes (only by half a shade, though). When he sees Simon sitting on the couch with headphones in and a video game. Clearly they’ve both been having trouble sleeping. Easily, he flops his body next to Simon and pokes a hand out. As if by magic (painfully ironic, isn’t it) a second set of headphones and another controller.

            Sitting like this isn’t uncommon for the men, but not talking is a new aspect. Periodically one of them will lift one side of the headphones and then shake their head. It goes on this way for hours. Simon gets his phone out and tests at some point, _How can he last for hours - is it that bad or is he a demigod,_ and it cracks Baz up. Surely he cackles but Simon decides that the animalist noises coming from down the hall are louder than his laugh would have been, so they just carry on.

            Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Simon and Baz fall asleep on the couch with the game system still running. Baz’s head is rolled back and he’s kind of snoring. Simon is smashed into his husband’s chest and visibly drooling. Exhausted from listening to the ‘zoo goes bump in the night’ antics, they remain this way until the smell of cheery pancakes and coffee waft into the living room. And, perhaps not to their surprise, Penny is wearing just a tee shirt.

            “Excuse the hell out of you, Bunce,” Baz shouts in the sexy way that sometimes, well, Simon tugs his sweater down a little further and scratches his head as his husband scolds her further. “It sounded like a bloody zoo in this flat! I think there are neighbors five blocks down that didn’t hear you moaning the lungs out of your fucking chest!”

            Simon thinks to himself, _quite a colorful way to put that,_ and opts to step up to Baz and grabs his elbow. They share a brief moment of eye contact before Baz makes a plate and pours a cup. He places it all harshly onto the table and then sneers at Micah. “I’d ask which part was the highlight for you but I think know. I _can_ tell the difference between your voices, no matter how high pitched or growly you get.”

            Everything in the room sort of goes still in the full minute that ticks away before Penny whacks Baz upside the head with a spatula. “I thought we were guests in your flat? Should we not be awarded _every_ comfort?” The air in the room is heavy with common sense explanations. Penny lived with Simon in this flat for over a year and feels very comfortable there. As two married couples, she also believes that the general consensus is that you see nothing, hearing nothing, and say nothing. They wouldn’t be complaining were is Simon and Baz making a charade of their – erm – _activities._

            Simon bites his lip and feels his tail wag without permission. Everyone glances but nobody says anything. By now, the wings and the tail are pretty well ignored. It isn’t that they’re _not_ there so much as they are _forgotten_ because they’re always there. Deciding to break the silence, Simon sort of crows, “So what’s the highlight? What was the reason for the romp?”

            Immediately, Baz covers his mouth – as in Simon’s mouth, not his own, because what does he have to be ashamed about? Penny and Micah both sort of laugh and then bat their eyes, because of course they would after all the mischief they’d been up to, and then they scream-shout together. “WE ARE HAVING TWINS!”

            Baz and Simon, never having mentioned before that they’ve been working fervently to expand their family, fake their smiles perfectly. Baz moves his hand away from Simon’s mouth and delicately places it on his shoulder, applying a bit more pressure than is necessary to distract the ache in both of their hearts. It’s Baz who speaks first, since Simon will burst into tears soon. “That is very lovely, Penelope. Congratulations.”

            Simon lurches forward, making gurgle as if he’s going to throw up. He must be trying to hide his sorrow quite aggressively. Baz escorts Simon out with a quiet pardon. Once inside their private bathroom they sit on the floor, Simon nestled against Baz, Baz against the vanity cabinet. Tears are rolling down both of their cheeks. Only a few weeks ago they’d had their fourth surrogate back out of an adoption arrangement. It was legal, of course, and neither of them could make a legal case out of it. Biology favors the birth parent.

            “Highlight,” Baz whispers with this velvetiness that warms Simon’s soul. It’s what he does when they’re broken down about something this big. It’s what they’ve been doing for two years, especially on the topic of ‘kids.’ The smile on his face was as apparent in his chest as it was in his voice. “We’re going to be uncles.”

            Like a puppy, Simon rolls on his back and exposes his belly. His husband rubs it and then stares down into his eyes. Something Penny shared with Simon that she didn’t with Baz makes what he has to share a little bit more satisfying. “Highlight,” his voice croaks at best.

            “They’re moving back to London.”


	9. Internet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's never a good way to address a problem with no good solution.

**internet, {in-ter-net};**

**a vast computer network linking other computer networks all around the world**

 

* * *

 

 

Time passes without warning. Days come and go, melting faster than ice cream on a summer day; blowing years by in sharp winds that go unnoticed in the busy fall afternoons spent preparing for the onslaught of upcoming holidays. Simon hardly remembered life before he was married to Baz because they’d been together for so long that it felt as though it is the only life he’d ever lived. 

It wasn’t that their lives together were plain or incomplete somehow. Baz was absolutely the love of his love, and Simon couldn’t pretend to doubt it if he tried – if his life depended on it! His feelings were hopeless, stupid, and unyieldingly strong for the vampire. Regardless of these things, one morning Simon woke and saw his face in the mirror. He was aging. _Thirty years old_ , he’d thought to himself, _and it’s already starting to show._ Life was becoming apparent in his physical features… In ways it would never become apparent on Baz… His frozen-in-time lover…

“Fucking hell,” Simon brushed it off and ignored it for weeks. Baz would catch him from time-to-time as he stared on at him with worry settling in his gut. There would come a time when Simon would be mistaken for Baz’s older brother or his father; then he would be seen as Baz’s grandfather; and eventually his great-grandfather. It always crossed his mind when it shouldn’t and before long there was no hiding that he was bothered by something.

So that’s when Baz suggested it. “We’ll make profiles online and we’ll be matched one-hundred percent. We love each other and whatever you’ve convinced yourself of will go away because you’ll be proven wrong.” Simon felt lame. Was he really that easy to read? Or was it the fact that they’d been together for so long that everything about his was just obvious? He didn’t really want to be predictable because that would make him boring. Simon didn’t know how to be anything else, though.

The whole plan was Baz’s doing – right down to when they actually did it. He thought it would be poetic to create the dating profiles on the Internet a few days ahead of their anniversary so that when the matches were generated, that they would find they were paired together perfectly. Simon doubted it completely from the start and complained the whole way through. 

Waiting afterwards was the hardest part. During this time he was getting emails to his phone to log on and look through some of the other features on the website, such as the chat rooms and forum boards where people could find support in one another. Matches came in all morning on the day they planned to see that they were paired together. Baz hadn’t considered fully the damage and neither had Simon, not until it was already too late.

That afternoon they were on the couch with the computers and they looked through the matches together. Baz had been correct about them being paired together but not exactly as perfectly as he’d imagined. In fact, they each had at least three other connections that were a ‘higher percentage match.’ Simon was distraught when Baz opened every message and reviewed the profiles. He mocked them, as he generally does when he’s decided something is beneath his interest, and proceeded to immediately leave the webpage and start browsing financial news across four or five different platforms. He’d thought his point was proven.

As for Simon, he just closed his laptop and went to the kitchen. He’d been tempted to look at the profiles but not to make fun of them. Even if he didn’t want to recognize it, they were people! Those other men and women that he’d been paired with – they got the same notifications as he did! Whether he wanted them to or not, those matches were going to look at his profile and if they did like what they saw, they’d message. Simon would have to _reject_ them. He could just delete his profile, sure, but that would be _worse_ than rejection to some degree.

It was wrong.

Later when Baz left to grab Simon’s take out, he logged onto both computers with the intent of connecting their profiles. He figured that if he connected himself to Baz that it would save everyone a whole world of hurt. He sent the request from his profile to his husband’s without much concern of what he would find. There were more matches, though, that Simon had seen earlier when they went through it together. Seeing how many people would have been a better match for Baz than Simon crushed his heart.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. By the time he’d stopped bawling his eyes out on the couch, Baz had at least come home and changed into his pajamas. In fact, when Simon sat up on the cushions, Baz was in the hallway brushing his teeth with his eyes glued to the dragon boy – or rather man, now. A slender finger was held in the air at Simon to indicate that he just wait a moment. When he returned with crossed arms and a scowl, Simon was sure that there was going to be an argument about ‘feeling secure’ and ‘acting jealous.’ 

It was not that kind of discuss. Baz surprised Simon – again – by knowing exactly what it was that was bothering him. “I don’t care what people will think when you’re older than me. You won’t have as many opportunities as I will to be older than your friends, okay, and I _admire_ you for it!” Why did it get under his skin if Baz couldn’t care less about what others would say or feel? The only two opinions that mattered were those that belonged to Baz and those that belonged to Simon.

He couldn’t turn it off, the worry, and hearing Baz call his childish fear out sent him off into a fit. Tears fell down his cheeks while he shook his head at Baz. 

“Eventually, I won’t be your husband anymore,” he gasped, “I’ll be your _burden._ ” Once it was out, he couldn’t take the words back. Their eyes locked onto each other’s and they watched as the power of Simon’s concerned settled into the space around them. His words saturated the air until even Baz was choked by their power. There had been nothing else to say.

Simon Snow had a valid concern and a good reason to be upset, and the Internet dating website that Baz had initially contracted to help clear up the worry in Simon’s heart… only did more harm than good…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/5/18 AN ~~ I want everyone to know that I've been extremely sick for the last week. I had an extremely high fever for about three days straight. I don't really remember anything from those days, and on NYD I posted a chapter in the only truly lucid state I've had since last week. I am feeling much better but I'm exhausted and struggling for inspiration. My winter holiday is over and my schedule is going be crazy as I get over being so terribly sick and get back to work and see a bunch of my extracurricular obligations start back up - but if you're patient with me - I know i have a ton more content coming for you that should bring smiles to your faces a dozen times over (I hope, anyway).


	10. Jarred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sudden? Unpleasant? Well, those are some words for it.

**Jarred, {jahr-d};**

**To have a sudden and unpleasant effect on one’s feelings, nerves, or emotions**

 

* * *

 

Vacations are hard to come by, honestly, when I’m always working based on what intrigues me. I don’t yearn for a vacation the way most people do and I have my reasons. I have exactly three reasons, actually.

  1. I love the work that I do and I don’t particularly care to be away from it for too long. I’d much rather take a day or two as I need it as opposed to take six weeks at a time or whatever else. I think by the opinions of most Brits, I’m a workaholic. I don’t mind because of the next reason…


  1. I’m a vampire and I have loads of time to slack off and do nothing with my life. I have considered that my priorities are backwards because I should be wanting to spend as much time with Simon as I can but really what sort of life would it be if we were with each other nonstop? We’re living a normal life as best as we can and there’s absolutely nothing for us to complain about because it’s good. Our life is good. This takes me to me last reason, of course, which is…


  1. I like being able to fund genuine projects all over London. There are very few charities and initiatives that are intended to better the world around us that don’t have my name stamped somewhere in the financial documents. I only keep enough money to keep Simon and I afloat. We don’t exactly live a luxurious life, either, so we don’t need much of my wealth in order to lead a comfortable lifestyle.



All of this comes back, though, to say that I’m legitimately on vacation. Simon and I have been taking rock-climbing classes and we’ve been discussing going to a few different places in order to properly climb. It has been at the center of all of our discussion for months now. So I informed all of my clients that I would be out for 30 days and that I had hired a small accounting firm to handle emergency matters regarding those accounts during my absence. We are leaving in two days for our first destination – Costa Dauruda in Spain.

Since I’ve promised myself not to do anything work related, mostly I’ve been wandering around the flat watching television and reading on the new material being taught at Watford. I don’t practice my magic in front of Simon because we’ve never really discussed how sensitive he would be to it. I save all of that for when he’s at work or out running an errand. I do just enough to stay knowledge and comfortable with it.

Today, though, I think it’s time to get our bags packed. Whenever we _do_ travel, I always pack both bags. If I left it to Simon, we would be walking into the airport with seven pairs of underwear and a tee shirt stuffed in a plastic bag because Simon forgot we were leaving. But he’d have a scone in each hand, certainly! My eyes roll on their own accord as I push the door ajar and start rummaging through our closet.

I barely notice when Simon gets home because I’m just folding and thinking about the route we’ll be taking throughout our trip. I quite like having my time well planned so just imagining how it will go gives me a thrill. “Hey,” Simon’s voice interrupts my thoughts and brings a smile to my face. “Hey,” I reply airily. 

“I have a strange thing to say,” Simon blurts softly. I know that he blurted because I saw his face. Every feature reflects the action of blurting. Yet, his voice was incredibly soft. He meant for it to be a whisper, I think, because that is precisely what it sounded like when his voice came out.

I drop my arms and assess what he might have to say. If I’m being honest, though, there are many times when he says something to me that he doesn’t think is strange but it exactly that. What would it take for Simon to find something strange enough to declare it so? There’s no use in waiting, so I ask. “And what would that be?”

“Agatha Wellbelove is in our living room,” Simon sort of squeaks? Is that the noise he’s just made? It was something else, a bit, too. Wasn’t it kind of a cry and a cough too? Whatever the noise is best described as aside, the sound was atrocious; and it is made worse by the fact that he’s not lying. I storm into the hallway to peer into the living room – and she really is there. Her ass is just plopped in my armchair with her head buried in her knees.

I snarl at Simon before seeking out what I need to know. He does not hesitate to explain himself. “Listen, I’m pretty jarred by it too. Nico called me and asked me to come around this butchery in Hackney. He said he had a body.”

“And you didn’t call me to come with you? How daft are you, Simon!?” I scold him in retaliation. Firstly, the fact that Nico called him was strange enough. Nico had their numbers from many years ago when it was necessary but that time was long expired. Hearing it sounds made-up. I don’t want to believe it but when Simon keeps talking, I cannot deny that it makes sense. Every – single – detail. 

Simon breathes and shrugs. “She came to London on business. While she was at a club she was attacked. Nico found her half dead in the alley. He took her to a hospital and they said she wouldn’t make it. Bit her, apparently, because he was feeling bad about his life choices, I guess.”

I groan when Simon says that she asked for them specifically when she came back to, and Nico obliged easily. It wouldn’t have mattered because neither of us are hard to find. If she’d went to Watford asking, any of the professors would have pointed them in the right direction faithfully. Well, if they didn’t realize she was a vampire at least.

“She needs someone who understand this and has compassion,” Simon says, emphasizing the word ‘compassion.’ I don’t want to extend compassion to Agatha, personally, because I’ve not seen her in a positive light for many years. However, for all of the things I hate about her – I know must hate about myself as well. So I roll my eyes, dramatically specifically to make it clear that I’m not happy about this, and then take deliberate strides right up to Agatha’s side. 

“Wellbelove,” I begin, “I hear that you’re in need of my expertise.”

She lifts her head, and then in the blink of an eye – she’s standing and wrapping her arms around me. I very nearly throw up on her. Not only does she reek of blood, alcohol, and garbage, but her touch also reminds me of the night that Simon caught her and I after dark at Watford. As she embraces me, I cringe and nearly vomit on her. Simon must sense my discomfort and quickly pries her off of me.

If Simon was only ‘jarred’ by her sudden reappearance in our lives, I couldn’t begin to imagine what word accurately described my feelings about it. Without being asked, Agatha is now recounting the events that transpired and the only inclination I have is to put her back on the streets to figure it out. Why didn’t Nico keep her? Surely he could have used some company?

But then Simon does the typical Simon thing. 

He fucking promises her that we’ll take care of her. “Our home is yours until you feel confident that you have a handle on what this means for you.” I guess I don’t have a proper say on the matter. Agatha is crying again, thanking Simon and I for our hospitality through all of her blabbering. It disgusts me. 

“I’m taking a shower,” I declare. Perhaps I should’ve offered as much to Agatha? Simon must think so because he tells her to help herself to the kitchen before chasing me down. I’m glad for my stride because I slam the bathroom door straight in his face and magic the door locked. I’ll talk to him well I’m less angry at him for making this choice without me.

 _Jarred?_ It isn’t even close to accurate.


	11. Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Simon is more aware than Baz realizes.

**Knowledge, {nol-ij};**

**Awareness, as a fact or circumstance**

* * *

When Simon sat me down, I guess I don’t know what I was expecting. I’ve watched enough romantic comedies to know that when someone wants to talk and they sit down next to each other on a couch – it’s going to be bad. So, I guess I was kind of expecting an ultimatum of some sort. I secretly have nightmares about Simon asking me to turn him, and I don’t know how we’ve made it so long without us discussing his being bit so that we have forever together. I mean, of course I’d put my foot down on the matter absolutely, but that fact that he hasn’t tried is surprising to me. 

The other thing I was expecting was that maybe Simon was going to ‘let me go,’ and that I was going to have to let him do it because I want him to be happy no matter the cost to me. I didn’t have much of a warning; honestly, it was kind of a text he sent to me. _“Be home in ten. Can we talk?”_

Simon came running in and he kissed me the way he usually does when he’s been gone all day doing something with work friends. He missed me and he missed my lips; that’s what he always says. It was no different that day and then he dragged me to the couch. I thought it was going to be maybe some exciting news for a brief moment but Simon placed a hand on my thigh and let out a grave breath. The feeling it gave me hurt. 

“Can we talk about your magic?” he smiles, as if it wasn’t a completely traumatizing and agonizing thing to be talking about. Like? He lost his magic. Never having confronted that aspect of his life, it just seemed like maybe Simon forgot that it happened. I convinced myself, apparently, that Simon erased everything related to magic from his mind. Since I thought that he didn't want anything to do with magic, I didn't ever use it in front of it. As far as I was aware, my husband didn't even know I used, or still used, magic.

I was relieved but not really. My body relaxed but I was obtusely aware that I could be walking on eggshells. “I-I – uh – I guess?” His question really had me dumbfounded. I’m not even sure it was my voice that gave him the green light.

Simon smiled in that stupid way he does when he’s really excited about something. That redheaded sod even bounced in his seat in order to teeter himself closer to me. Everything was so confusing. His voice and his body language were incredibly deceiving to the setting he’d created by asking if we could talk. The movies didn’t really prepare me for this scenario. “So, how often do you work with it?”

“Enough to keep up, I suppose,” I offered lamely. Simon continued to ask me questions about what I worked on and whether I was showing improvement in any areas. The conversation felt familiar, like the ones I had with my father or the ones when parents were invited to come meet with the professors in the middle of each term. His investigation had morphed more into this strange sort of interview.

I answered each question that came up. Mostly, my skills and knowledge were about the same, only more modern if anything. I had begun to take an interest in practical uses for magic – a very domestic study, really. It was there that I admitted how often I was using magic. Though I would have never had admitted it before this conversation, I’d been using magic to make Simon’s food healthier…

“Fantastic! I’m glad!” Blank. I was completely blank. I mean, it _is_ pretty fantastic that I was doing that for him. Honestly, he doesn’t eat very well or work out nearly enough. My handiwork is really the only reason he doesn’t have a rounded belly. Simon does get a little chubbier in the winter months, as many do, but I don’t push the work outs quite as hard. If he gets too skinny, I have flashbacks to the beginning of the year during our time at Watford. He always looked so sick and underfed. So I don’t mind him putting on a little weight a couple months of the year.

Simon then leaned away from me and twisted his whole body around so that he was facing me. His face, his chest, his legs, knees, feet – everything! With his body squared to face me, it seemed unnatural for me to remain sitting with my feet flat on the floor. Hesitation affected my movements and so I surely looked uncomfortable as I contorted myself to sit in the same position as my lover, husband, and best friend.

And I wondered if he would be that way for long. Though, the conversation left me really worried about what any of it meant…

“Soon people are going to mistake me for your father. The age difference is really starting to show,” Simon said. It was a simple statement and it didn’t even come out in such a way that I freaked out. Had my brain thought for even a second that he was going to ask to be bitten, I think I would have had a melt down. I’d seen protests and I would have shamed those events if I even suspected as much was going to be said. When he continued, though, I was proven right. He wanted no such thing. “I was thinking a bit about your magic and how alchemy is an incredibly powerful practice.” 

Well, not quite the nightmare I’d imagined but a nightmare of a different sort. Simon asked me to start studying alchemy to see if there was a way to deter the aging process significantly. It would require a regular brew should I find anything of the sort. It would easier to magic his appearance every morning if he was that worried about it, and I’d declared as much to Simon on the spot. He had his reasons, though, and they were bloody good ones. “I want to deter my body’s rate of decay. I couldn’t care less what they think when they see us.”

“Liar,” I snarled. He cared. He cared a fucking lot. 

Simon shrugged, “Fair,” and then continued to share that slowing the process would give him a longer life. “Maybe it isn’t forever but it is time. More – time.”

As much as I wanted to be mad that he was asking so much of me; as much as I wanted to ask him why we’ve never talked about magic; as much as I wanted to tell him not to worry about it… I agreed. More time? It sounded fabulous. Any amount of time extra I could share with Simon was worth my time.

And I promised him I would see what I could find. “Thank you,” I said when the conversation was clearly over. It should’ve been Simon expressing his gratitude, right? I knew it should have been but I had something to be thankful for too.

As I expected, Simon asked what I was saying it for. Part of him must’ve known before I said it. “For not asking me to turn you.”

“As if, Pitch.” I think it made me happier to hear him say it with such disgust than anything else ever has done.


	12. Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Death' is synonymous to 'last.'

**Last, {lahst};**

**Final**

* * *

'Last' is a sad word.

Last night, last week, last year… Last is a reflection into the past.

Last time, last place… Last is a reflection of loss and comparison.

Last has a finality to it that never leaves. Penny is carrying the weight of ‘last’ on her shoulders with her two children staying closer at her sides. Micah died unexpectedly in a car accident after staying out late to pick up a birthday present. Simon, in contrast, keeps his distance.

It has been a very long time since death has touched his life. Mortality is absolutely frightening on it’s own. Knowing that everyone will die eventually, except probably Baz, makes Simon depressed enough. Then there’s the whole lack of predictability to it… No amount of math could have warned Penny that the night before her birthday she would get a call that her husband was dead.

She’s brave. Penny is wearing the necklace that he had purchased right before he died. When guests asked her about it, she just sighs and explains, “It was his last purchase.” It was that word: last. Penny wrote every ‘last’ that Micah had for her eulogy.

His last kiss belonged to their daughter, Nadia, who had been running late for school that morning. His last text was to Penelope, telling her that she could have her birthday wine a few hours early. His last phone call was to work where he left a voice message reminding his assistant that he’d be off the following day to spend it with his wife. His last picture was with Penelope, in which he snapped a picture of her snuggling up against him in bed. He’d shared in his post that he was going to ask Penny a very important question for her birthday.

Someone has the audacity asked if she knew what he was going to ask her. Penny had no clue but her daughters did. Nadia slid both hands around her mother’s forearms while her twin sister, Denise sorrowfully announced what the question was going to be: “He was going to ask if you would renew your vows to celebrate everything you’ve been through together, to continue going through life together.”

This moves Simon to tears. Without warning anyone, he excuses himself to the parking lot. He finds the nearest tree and sets himself beneath it for a good cry. Micah went without warning. So many people die that way. It gets Simon thinking about himself… He could die that way…

Baz doesn’t ever let Simon go far and when a certain period of time elapses, he will stop giving his husband space and start demanding answers. Today he is less aggressive about it. Where he would usually ask questions, he just slides down the bark of the tree and places a hand over Simon’s knee. “’Last’ doesn’t have to be a sad word.” 

Involuntarily, Simon smiles and sniffles; he tries to hide that Baz completely read his mind. All day he’s been thinking about how ‘last’ is not a word used by optimists. Of course, Baz Pitch is going to prove him wrong. That’s what he does. 

“When we kissed for the first time,” Baz breathes with closed eyes. Simon can feel his husband remembering that night in the forest. He hadn’t known he was attracted to Baz until that exact moment. It was sudden and overwhelming, and that feeling never really went away. The love has taken over everything inside of him. “I wanted that feeling to last forever.” 

Simon smashes his head against the tree, drooping it to the right. “I see what you did there,” his voice cracks. Baz keeps his eyes closed, a grin twisting his lips into a wicked curl. Sometimes tells Simon that there are plenty of other firsts crossing Baz’s mind, and the way those firsts felt, and how wanting them to _last_ isn’t all that bad.

So, he’s right, of course.

‘Last’ doesn’t have to be a sad word. Maybe it is on this day but not on all days. Something about that is very hopeful, in a way, and it gives Simon the strength that he needs to wish Micah his last farewell.


	13. Mascara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no good summary for this one so - Simon wears mascara sometimes, okay?

**Mascara, {ma-skar-uh}**

**A substance used as a cosmetic to color eyelashes and eyebrows**

* * *

“How long have you been doing this?” Baz asks with as much chill as he can manage. It isn’t even that he needs to stay calm because he’s freaking out, or that he’s startled and uncomfortable. Mostly, it’s really fucking hot and seeing Simon in make-up is definitely a new kink.

Simon shrugs his shoulders, “I do it for the Halloween parties at work. After Micah died, I guess, was the first time. Penny was really upset that she doesn’t have any girl friends so I figured that I was her gay friend so…”

“How fucking stereotypical, you fucking sod,” Baz scoffs angrily. Of _course_ Simon would make that comment; _of fucking course_ Simon would offer to cross dress to make someone feel better. All he can think about is the fact that middle-aged Simon looks like mid-thirties Simon still, and he’s decided to use that youth to cross-dress as Penny’s best gal pal. Baz is pretty sure that he’s dead.

He doesn’t say anything else, though, because he listens as Simon explains that he and Penny learned to wear make-up the right way. They go shopping for beautiful sundresses together all the time, apparently, and Simon has learned that he really likes to wear low wedge heels. “I feel a bit magical, like I never lost the power I had at Watford.”

Baz wedges his tongue between his fang and his bottom tooth to prevent a groan from erupting without his permission. Simon is putting on mascara, and since Baz is gay, he didn’t really ever notice how sexy mascara could be. He has to keep looking away from Simon as he continues to apply his make-up for afternoon tea with Penny. “We’ll have to go out sometime. When you’re dressed up, I mean.”

“I’m afraid you’ll be straight afterwards,” Simon laughs, “So I’m going to have to say – hard no.” And Baz laughs too, because how couldn’t he? Finding out his husband is cross-dressing for his best friend to help her cope with the loss of her husband in his midlife is sort of like a bad joke. Regardless, he knows that Simon is doing this with sincerity, and probably an awkward amount of innocence, and Baz can support this. In fact, it’s nice seeing Simon confident and happy after such a troubled childhood.


	14. Novella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon writes a short story that is meta in the dorkiest way.

**Novella, {noh-vel-uh};**

**A text that is longer and more complex than a short story but shorter than a full-length piece of fiction**

* * *

 

Writing was not nearly as hard as it seemed to be in school, those many years ago when Simon Snow attended Watford. It started off as joke, writing a sort of memoir about his strange and silly life. Then it became somewhat of a made-up piece of nonsense, didn’t it? Before he knew it, his ‘joke’ story was a relatively long piece.

“Simon Snow and his Silly Story about his Secret Soulmate,” Baz read over his shoulder one day. It took some time, but Simon explained it all very thoroughly. It was just a story about a red-headed dragon boy going to school to learn how to use his dragon magic only to fall in love with his dragon slaying roommate.

The red-headed dragon, whom was conveniently named Simon Snow, was best friends with a valiant dragon named Penny for Your Thoughts. She was an earthly sort of dragon with purple eyes and a penchant for asking riddles like a sphinx. The whole story was sort of hilarious. Baz loved it.

They never planned to take it seriously. Baz would read it out loud to Simon during meals in small chunks, all the while making corrections here and there for improve the writing technically. As a joke some time afterwards, Simon made all of the corrections and printed a manuscript of the story and left it out on their coffee table in the living room. The whole presentation was very serious. The pages were in laminated sheets and the binder had a cover page. Feeling somewhat selfish for keeping such a grand piece of fiction from the world, Baz published the manuscript as an e-Book. 

Apparently the length wasn’t appropriate for a novel so Baz had to list it was a novella, but the feedback was so positive that within a couple of months there were nearly a thousand positive reviews. Baz had never told Simon about it and wasn’t sure how to break the success to him. The thought was that nothing would ever actually come of the story but a published asked for a full length project, maybe a series even. Baz was dumbfounded and unsure of how to handle the situation. It was just a sort of joke, really, not that he didn’t take the story of Simon Snow the Red-headed Dragon seriously, of course.

So he just printed the email and sat it on the table for Simon Snow the Dragon-Human-Boy to read. It would be a strange conversation, sure, but perhaps it would make another great short story someday.


	15. Ottoman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz buys a new piece of furniture for the bedroom.

**Ottoman, {ot-uh-muh-n}**

**A piece of furniture that is basically a high class bench**

 

* * *

“It’s weird,” he grunts as he plops down on the velvety bench at the foot of their bed. Simon wiggles his bottom across the fabric and describes how weird it feels to have a sitting piece of furniture in their bedroom. “What are supposed to use it for?”

Baz rolls his eyes. “To sit down on, obviously,” he groans with a gesture towards Simon’s entire body. After all, he _is_ currently sitting on the ottoman.

“What could we possibly need to sit in our bedroom for?” he badgers, still shaking his arse to and fro across the surface. A huff of frustration parts Baz’s lips but the reaction is nearly soundless. He cocks his jaw to the side and runs his tongue along his top row of teeth, brushing around his fangs delicately.

“I don’t know,” Baz snaps at his husband. “Why don’t you use your imagination and figure it out!” He storms out of the room and leaves Simon with his thoughts. It’s just an ottoman. Did it really need to be questioned?


	16. Pinterest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you imagine - Baz being obsessed with Pinterest?

**Pinterest, {pin-ter-ist};**

**A photo based website that allows you to bookmark crafts, recipes, and other interesting things**

* * *

Getting addicted to Pinterest was not an ‘on purpose’ thing. 

Baz thought it was going to be the longest six weeks he'd ever live through, and that was saying a lot because Baz had to share a dorm with Simon while secretly being in love with him for eight years. He broke his leg doing such a Simon thing. He was trying to slide down the railing of the stairs to our flat ‘because the snow would impact his fall.’ He was so wrong. Doing a ‘twisting layout,’ Baz’s old man moved one way but his leg did not follow.

During that time, Simon couldn’t do pretty much anything. They watched so many movies at first, then they tried playing games. It all got boring, though, about three weeks in and it forced them to start doing other things. Simon apparently wanted to learn how to knit? Baz had never know this and it was the first time that Simon had said anything about it.

His reasoning? Word for word, he proclaimed: “When I am too old to function, I want to be able to do something useful. I’ll knit hats and scarves for foster kids.”

There are plenty of YouTube tutorials, of course, but Simon said they’re rubbish. So then Baz started searching for picture tutorials specifically. There were some on Pinterest, which Baz had heard of but never personally used, and he started pinning stuff for Simon immediately. And then he started pinning other things… for himself…

During the last three weeks Simon had on his cast, Baz had literally pinned over two thousand posts. Sure, he would probably live long enough to do them all, but was there a need for it? Was there a need for any of it? Nope, but Baz was completely invested. Even after Simon had his cast removed, they’d begun dedicating at least one full day each week towards their various Pinterest projects.


	17. Qualified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz decides it's time to start making some arrangements.

**Qualified, {kwol-uh-fayhd};**

**Having the qualities, accomplishments, or other necessary skill set which is designated for a specific purpose**

* * *

Nadia and Denise invite Penny to their flat. Expecting that the three of them will have a lovely afternoon just catching up and enjoying some delightful baked goods, as the twins are quite talented bakers, it is quite shocking to find Baz Pitch relaxing on the girls’ couch as if he belongs there.

He even welcomes Penny before the girls know that she’s even arrived. “Lovely to see you, Bunce,” he coos comfortably. She is understandably confused, and her expression surely reflects this, but Baz escorts her to the dining room without hesitation.

Nadia is setting the table when Penny enters the room with Baz. She welcomes her mother with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “How was your morning,” she questions while transitioning back to her task. Baz even joins her. Penny describes her activities since waking up, and it sounds excruciatingly dull. She retired some time ago and it left her realizing are relatively unfulfilling lifestyle these days. Mostly, if she chooses, she writers an academic essay on this or that. She hosts lectures periodically all across Europe on a schedule, too, but that’s all light work compared to the great feats Penny accomplished during her youth when her career was mighty and strong.

“Mom?” Denise asks, sneaking into the room and placing a hand in the small of her mother’s back. “Mom, you’re crying?” And she is. Penny wipes her face and apologizes for her tears, saying that she wasn’t even sure what it was that was making her so sad, even though it is a blatant lie to everyone in the room. Even Baz snorts in rejection.

Nadia and Denise talk about how they’ve been off of work for a couple of days. This is news to their mother but they promise that they’ll explain in due time. Apparently the girls had scheduled some vacation time and it was nothing to worry about. Baz brings up Simon, though his comments are far less … exciting? “As you know, I’ve been slowing the aging process for Simon for many years now,” Baz began with deliberate calm in his voice. Ever the professional, his features did not give away anything about the words the would follow.

“Despite these efforts, I can see Simon tiring and slowing down. At the end of the day, Simon is still an eighty-year-old mortal man… 

Being scared of Simon’s health, his life span, this was not new to Penny. Inevitably, they became close out of consequence or circumstance. Penny never really hated Baz with the intensity that Simon did during their Watford days. In the same breath, she hadn’t quite warmed up to him so wholly either? They were good friends and trusted each other beyond measure but it was not without notice that a certain comfort was never really attained with him. Respect, yes; friendship, certainly; love, not quite? Baz was family, though, and Penny would never pretend otherwise.

All of that being considered, Baz’s words didn’t surprise her. He confided in her when he was trying to create such a draught to help Simon keep pace with his husband more effectively. No doubt it had been working all this time, as Simon’s health was great for a man who was twenty years younger than he _looked_. Alas, Baz was right to worry. Simon was eighty but looked sixty (and a damn good sixty, if Penny did say so herself), which meant his health was probably that of a forty year old. No doubt that concerns would be coming and coming quickly. “I want to start making arrangements for us to spend the rest of our life together unhindered.”

Penny’s head cocks towards him with curiosity, “How do you mean, Baz?” 

“Well,” Nadia and Denise answer, though the question wasn’t directed at them. “That’s why we’ve had you come today.”

The true extent and reach of Baz’s accounting business stretched much further than Penny realized, apparently. For years he’s had accountants working under him as well as business consultants and marketers too. For all the work he’d done as a young man when he and Simon were just focused on making the most of their situation, Baz had created this strange sort of quiet empire. He wove his tale easily as if everything happened naturally. Nineteen business had his name vested within them; another twenty keep him on retainer for all of their financial needs; he’s an investor in at least forty different inventors; _and_ he hosts not-for-profit events that allow him to make large donations to companies that matter. Apparently, people pay him a lot of money to attend just to have the opportunity to be considered. At the end of the day, Baz is filthy rich and his “sole proprietorship” is a wide stretching project. “I can see why you are beginning your preparations,” Penny declares when he’s done explaining his piece. 

“I’m leaving it all to your daughters,” the remark comes out lazily, almost as if it were a matter of fact to everyone in the room. Penny chokes a bit on her tea before glancing at her daughters. This really _isn’t_ news to them. “This is why we’ve scheduled vacation time.”

Denise is closer and reaches her hand to her mother. The twins aren’t ‘young’ the way the most people traditionally describe youthful individuals. Penny was nearly thirty when she had her daughters, so they are in their fifties, but they’ll do great work in the decade or two that they run the business. It isn’t as if they’re doing it alone, Baz defends. “I’m not going off the grid. I’m just making the shift that I need to make to cover my ass and to give myself over to Simon during his final years.”

Denise and Nadia talk about how they’ve been working on this for much longer that it seems. Supposedly, Baz offered the company to them a few years ago but they refused. Nadia offers, “We did not feel qualified yet.” 

Penny sort of sighs, “Are you qualified _at all_?” Her daughters went to school for business administration and chemistry. Maybe Nadia was _somewhat_ capable of making such a huge career shift, but Denise? This wasn’t even close to her realm of expertise. Panic sort settles into her guts. “This sounds like a great investment, sure, but are you ready to give up the careers you worked so hard to build?”

But a mother knows when her children feel confident about their choices. The looks on her daughters’ faces say it all: _it’s time for a change._ Business administration is a stable career but boring after some time. Chemistry? It can be fun for a long time but the scientists retire early and usually with a medical problem of one sort or another. If Denise was truly lucky then she might’ve have ten more years in her field, otherwise, her time was rapidly approaching. “Mom, what Baz does is so much more than hitting buttons on a calculator or telling someone that their spending is wrong.”

Nadia grins with sparkling eyes. “He revives dead companies and he gives hope to entrepreneurs and inventors. What he does is what I love about working in the business field. I cannot tell you how honored and excited I am to carry his company into the next generation.” Of course, Penny starts crying because she’s so proud of her daughters. Not to mention, she thinks of her late husband and how excited he would have been for the girls to be moving in such a proactive direction. There’s more to the world than people realize when they’ve specialized in one particular area of study. It was always he who insisted on culturally enriching their daughters’ lives. It was Micah who said that the twins couldn’t do their jobs well if they didn’t know the world that they were living in…

So Penny accepts it at face value. She takes Baz’s hand on top of the table and looks into his eyes, which also have a glint of pride in them. Denise and Nadia were as much his children as they were hers, and she couldn’t be more grateful to have shared her family with him and Simon. “You deserve this,” Penny remarks happily. Baz turned out to be so great for Simon, and for her too, that she can hardly believe he was the arrogant rich boy sharing a dorm with her best friend over half a century ago.

“Thank you,” she whispers through her tears. “Thank you for everything.”


	18. Rewind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you could - would you rewind and try again?

**Rewind, {ree-wayhnd}**

**To reverse or wind backwards**

* * *

 

Simon is sitting on the porch watching the sunset. I can see him from the kitchen where I’m waiting for his coffee to finish brewing. The sky is still very blue but brilliant warm colors are starting to poke their fingers past the horizon. This is his favorite part about living in the mountains. Our coffee machine goes off and I turn away, using my magic to make the process quicker, and rush to rejoin him on the swing. 

“Calling order for Simon Snow?” my voice rolls over the wooden planks composing our spectacular front porch. Last year we moved into the mountains. Simon knows he’s mortal, but he doesn’t always act like it because he has this ‘live each day to the fullest’ point of view. A boy that was once absurdly cautious and hesitant has grown into a man that takes risks and behaves somewhat recklessly. I think specifically about how he broke his leg sliding down the railing of our stairs… I think specifically about that karaoke night where he got into a bar fight with someone for calling him a cradle robber… That was somewhat justified, honestly, because I _definitely_ look old enough to be dating around. I look youthful, yes, but I do not look a day younger than twenty-five.

Simon’s voice is small and airy, wispy and distance, and not entirely meant for Baz. “Thank you, love.” His eyes don’t leave the horizon and it’s strange. There’s something different about it but I don’t want to ask him why. Prying may not give me the answers I want, and the question I’m asking may not have an answer. Simon could just be zoning out for all I know.

I think too much these days. I’ve started counting down my days with Simon. The droughts I give him to slow his aging aren’t guaranteed. He _looks_ young and he stays healthy, mostly anyway, and works hard to feel as if he can keep up with his “pool boy.” I wish he’d have at least called me the ‘gardener’ when the jokes began because we’ve never lived somewhere that we’ve had access to a pool. Gardening, though, is something that I’ve been doing since our move.

I lean into him and rest my head against his, our shoulders smashed together. Simon doesn’t let me talk about it but he’s shrunk about two inches, so he’s even shorter than me than he was in our younger days. Honestly, it’s comical. We take pictures and I have to slump way down just to be in the frame with him. Simon has taken to just sneaking pictures of me around the house with his face in the forefront. He adds text to the pictures that is embarrassingly sweet.

 

_Hubby cleans the dishes like I don’t lick’m clean lol_

 

_My secret lover is folding clothes so my husband doesn’t find evidence our affair lolol_

 

Seriously, Simon Snow is fucking hilarious. I like, favorite, and share his pictures like some sort of obnoxious super fan. There is no way to really to properly gauge who is more romantic and affectionate anymore. With nothing else to distract us, all of our energy goes into being in love in the most cringe-worthy, sugary sweet, make your heart melt sort of way. Simon jokes that our love is “a really good fanfiction” that everyone would read.

When he says that, I think about the fact that he wrote a book about some of our ridiculous adventures together. I think about our first kiss, I think about the first night we lived together outside of Watford, our first time sleeping together, and all of the other firsts we’ve shared together. And I think of the last things we’ve done together too. The last time we were at Watford, the last time we went to our favorite bakery together, the last time we went rock climbing, the last time we visited Micah’s grave with Penny. They’re lasts, I know, because we won’t be going back to London to live.

I brought Simon out here to live with me until he dies. It’s selfish and I almost regret it, but I left the decision to him. Telling him about my idea to spend the last decade or two that he may have, out here, just experiencing the world from a different perspective, and just staying here until that horrible day comes; I thought it would be work to convince him. Leave it to Simon fucking Snow to surprise me.

To this day, I don’t know what I ever did to deserve him. My eyes are glued to his hands holding his coffee mug, the coffee almost spilling over with each swing, and I know that he’s not drinking it because he’s worried about rustling me. Straightening my back, I take a slow and deliberate breath in. The air is cool and crisp and everything I would imagine living in a mountain. “Do you regret me?” 

“Do you mean to ask me if I would have changed anything?” Of course I mean to ask him that. He should have had hesitations about uprooting his life and moving ‘off grid.’ He should have had concerns about my wanting to keep him away from the city and his friends. He should have been mad at me for working all those hours, for keeping him out of the loop about my plans to retire, for not trying harder to ensure his youth, and all of these things. All of these things! Some part of him should’ve had doubts at some point…

Simon shakes his head and I feel it. I don’t physically feel it. I don’t physically see it. I just feel it in my heart. He’s so fucking good to me that he would never regret our life together. He would never hit ‘rewind’ and try again if someone figured out the spell to turn back time; Simon didn’t think about life that way. I guess his mortality gives him an edge in that regard. 

I don’t want to change things either, but I wonder about how things might’ve been different if something else had gone another way. It’s all consdierations but never desires. “Baz, I love the shit out of you and I can’t think of a better way to have lived my life.”

I don’t know what to say. I magic his cup from his hands and place it on the rail in front of us. Simon has already turned his head to meet my gaze. Perfectly smooth skin once is now wrinkled, Simon has crow’s feet for miles. His laugh lines are so noticeable that it almost looks like he’s always laughing. I see his true age in those big blue eyes of his. They have always kept me grounded and true to myself; they have always reminded me of my purpose and my heart. What would I ever do without them?

“Thank you,” I hum as I lower my lips to his. _Thank you for giving your only life to me._


	19. Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon hears sounds. They're not the right ones.

**Sound, {sound}**

**An auditory effect or stimulation created by a specific cause**

* * *

 

The wind whips.

The water hums.

The grass rustles.

The trees whisper.

The doors creak.

The rocks rumble.

 

And those sounds are pretty great, I guess.

 

Baz breathes.

Baz sneezes.

Baz groans.

Baz snores, too, which never bothered me too much until recently.

Baz sings in the shower, and when he cooks, and when he cleans, and all the time.

Baz laughs when he sees a penis shape in the cloud because we’re still immature.

 

And those sounds are the best, and I love them very much, but they’re familiar.

 

My heart ached for a different sound ringing in my ears. Baz went to a farmer’s market at the village at the foot of our mountain. He learned the local tongue faster than I did, so he does a lot of the menial tasks alone. We needed some more flour to make bread and I was really craving a salad, so he went down to get a jar of mayonnaise to make my favorite dressing.

I can’t describe what it was that provoked me to get online and search for goats, but I was extremely compelled to do this. Maybe I was feeling nostalgic, maybe I was feeling extremely mortal that day, or maybe I just missed one of the only people that I considered family. Ebb was the primary reason I felt at peace at Watford. I literally looked for ASMR videos with goats, and I found some, sure, but it wasn’t real enough for me.

The second that Baz walked through the front door and called my name, I was in the hallway with a slack look on my face. He wouldn’t doubt how serious I was when I said it if I did it that way. I approached him slow and steady, and then I practically shouted.

“I WANT A GOAT FARM NOW!” I think I would’ve understood if he’d told me ‘no, absolutely not, that’s ridiculous, Simon, no,’ but that bastard actually did it. Within a week there were five baby goats and a plateau where I would take care of them. They weren’t like Ebb’s goats because these had to be proper mountain goats that could survive the weather, but they were goats. They were _my_ goats.

Baz told me he knew why I wanted them. “You wanted to be a goatherd, right?” I hated that he was right but not really. I hated that I loved that he just knew. That’s what real love is, I thought then, and I still do, but real love is when your partner just knows you so well that they knew things you’ve never properly said to them.

I loved Baz Pitch so much it hurt. It still hurts. My one heart? _How was it ever going to be enough to give to him?_


	20. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon is exhausted.

**Tired, {tayhuh-rd};**

**Exhausted or sleepy**

* * *

 

 “What would you like to do today,” I ask you while sweeping the floor, with magic since there’s been less and less stigma about my using it. As I pass you I am expecting you to make a grab at my behind or run your hand playfully over my leg. Usually, much to my delight, your age hasn’t lessened your appetite.

So I can hardly believe it when I pass by undisturbed. So I clear my throat and try to gain your attention. “Simon?”

You grunt at me and roll over on the couch with your eyes closed. You’re smiling wide and I love it so much I almost don’t see your face go slack for a moment. You get older every day and it kind of hurts me, but I don’t see it because I’m with you all the time. So I know it’s happening and I see it differently but I don’t see small things like this often.

I don’t see how weak you’re getting. Your energy is less than it was fifty years ago, less than five years ago, less than even five months ago. Weary from the long life you’ve been living with me, I see how truly tired you have become since that first day I saw you at Watford and we were assigned to the same dorm. You were so young and you looked so different, and yet so much the same.

Maybe you’re gray, but your hair is still curly. Maybe you’re wrinkly, but your eyes are still sparkling with innocence. Maybe you’re voice is gruff, but your speech patterns are the same. Everyone, despite their age, will always have their outline. Some things cannot be changed or erased.

“I need a nap, that walk took a lot out of me this morning,” you grumble as you pull the hood on your sweater over your head to hide your face. I think you have known for some time that your light is dimming and don’t want me to see it. It makes me wonder now exactly how many moments like this have gone unnoticed.

So I sigh because I don’t want to push you harder than you can be pushed but neither am I particularly interested in just letting you drift off without me by your side. I can’t afford to miss anything else. I don’t know how much time I’ll have left with you. “Let’s take a nap together after you drink some tea? Sound like a plan?”

“Sounds delightful,” you half groan and half whisper in reply, but I can tell you’re already back asleep the second the last syllable breathes past your lips. Since I can’t change my circumstances, I pull up a chair next to the couch and I read lame poetry about being in love to you while you sleep. Sure, you won’t remember, but I just want to be here with you so badly… For as long as I can…


	21. Undetermined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Baz just doesn't have a plan.

**Undetermined, {un-de-ter-min-ed};**

**Something that is not resolute or decided definitely**

* * *

“What will you do?” Penny asks over the phone. She called for Simon something like an hour ago but he is sleeping. Baz hears how frail Penny has become in her very late life. Not unlike Simon, she’s pushing the boundaries of her lifespan – very likely with the use of magic – and is unsure when she’ll be hitting the finish line. But, of course, it could be any time in any way.

This isn’t necessarily the _first_ time that it has been brought up, his outliving Simon, but this is the first time that someone has asked him directly what he’ll do when his husband dies. Planning for it has been years in the making but not once did Baz ever actually consider _how_ he would live his life when it no longer revolves around Simon’s entire being. Could he even do it?

Baz parts his lips, letting his fangs hang out past his lips. He needs to drink soon but he refuses to leave the house for long because Simon could be gone when he comes back. Simon could be dead. _Simon – could – be – dead._

And someday – soon – he will be. Baz wrinkles his nose and breathes very deep through his mouth. Penny will hear this quite well from her end. “There is no plan for _after_. I can only manage _until_ for now.”

Being undetermined about this future that Baz knows is before him makes him feel as if he deserves whatever hell is sure to come.


	22. Vivid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon is thinking while he watches Baz sleep.

**Vivid, {vi-ved};**

**Having the appearance of vigorous life or freshness**

* * *

I know enough about dying and magic to know that this gig I have with Baz hasn’t got much longer. Tomorrow I am turning one-hundred-and-one years old, and even though I’m only just now started to really look like a crotchety old fellow who might break when he breathes, I can feel within myself that I’ve been fragile and weak. Of course, I became hyperaware of this deterioration quite some time ago.

Magic helped prolong my life, I’m sure of it, but I think it was vanity that motivated me more than anything. I look much younger than I feel, and I act even younger than that. Because of the life Baz shared with me I was able to always act like a goofball with no plan and never had to address my fears of being a ‘proper’ adult.

I couldn’t be more grateful for it. 

Baz is sleeping on this rare occasion, as he’s been struggling to rest properly lately, and even though I know our time is running shorter and shorter each day, I cannot stand the idea of waking him. We love each other more genuinely than I ever could have guessed after out first kiss. I never doubted my feelings, although I’m sure Baz would never believe me, but I did wonder how sincere they were occasionally. I mean - we sort of had our own separate life disasters, right? I considered the possibility that we were clinging to each other out of familiarity, which isn’t bad, but was it healthy? I asked myself a lot if we were a _healthy_ couple because I knew were a good one. 

What I love about where we’ve been living is the weather. There are four very distinct seasons, the way there should be, and the nature is pure in the most enchanting way possible. It makes not having magic feel okay because the real magic is the world. Everything living and growing and changing and adapting on this planet is performing the greatest magic of all: survival. It’s spring right now so while I’m watching Baz get some much-needed rest, I’m also listening to the thuds on our roof from the rain pouring down in buckets. The sound of it is peaceful but it’s loud. 

My eyes turn towards the window for a moment. It is cracked so that the scent wafts in with the slight breeze. The small is sharper and fresher somehow than it has been in the past few weeks. In fact, I can’t help but think the sky is grayer than usual today too. Everything seems more vibrant and defined. Sentiment is getting to me.

While I convince myself that I’m not really seeing more details and that I’m just having bursts of clarity before everything begins to take the final toll, Baz rolls over and throws his arm over my lap. A quick squeeze of my leg reminds me that he is looking for me, checking my temperature, in his sleep.

I need to start preparing him to say ‘good-bye’ to me. When my chapters in his life come to an end, I want him to be ready and I want him to be strong. And, more than anything, I never want these years to become dull and forgotten because he pushes them aside. Baz Pitch must learn to live for himself before I die. 

And for the first time ever, this thought doesn’t really scare me.


	23. Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many stages of grief. Right now - Baz is really angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: A major character's death is mentioned in this chapter.  
> WARNING: There are descriptions in this chapter which qualify as being gore-y. These descriptions are related to animal deaths and violence towards a deceased animal. There is also mention of unintentional self-harm. Plenty of blood is mentioned too. If any of these things will trigger you or make you uncomfortable, please skip this chapter. Each chapter can be read individually and I can assure you will not miss anything that you can't live without.

**Wrath, {rahth};**

**Strong and fierce anger**

* * *

Blood is dripping down his chin, making a _pat! pat! pat!_ sound on the corpse of the deer. The funeral took every ounce of civility and sanity that Baz had left. As soon as he left the cemetery – by hopping the chain link fence – he started drinking from any animal that crossed his path. Should anyone wish, they could follow the bodies straight to where he now sits, hands shaking against his thighs and hair sticking to his wet face. 

But there’s nobody left to come looking for him. When Simon died, everyone that mattered to Baz was officially gone.

Things move faster than people realize. For all the planning, expecting, and waiting, Baz never anticipated losing everyone so quickly and so closely together. Penny passed two years ago, Denise just last year, and Nadine is in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s advanced enough to have forgotten Simon and Baz entirely. He only knows because he went to tell her about Simon’s death and she had no idea why she would want to go to the funeral of a man with a funny name.

Thinking about this just makes Baz angrier. He craves recompense. He craves vengeance. He wants someone, or something, to hurt as much as he hurts; to hate as much as he hates; to grieve as much as he grieves. 

A sudden pang of reality pierces straight through the center of Baz’s brain and it sends his arms flying almost without his consent. He begins punching the deer in front of him. On the first impact, a cracking noise fills the air. The second hit brings with it another shattering shrill from the carcass too. Though he cannot stop himself from flailing, Baz wishes he could just stop.

Not even just stop hitting but stop everything. He wants to stop the world from continuing on as if Simon Snow, the most important person in his life, hadn’t just been buried. He wants to take everything that everyone has ever loved from them until each and every single person who has ever loved feels as empty as he feels, as angry as he feels.

It’s the blood splatter that hits his cheek that snaps him back from the destroyed corpse. Guilt surges in Baz’s veins. Standing on his feet, dizziness overwhelms him and sends him stumbling into the nearest tree. “Make it stop!” he screams to himself, smashing his head repeatedly against the bark until he becomes to weak to stand. Warmth spills down the bridge of his nose, altering him that he’s split his head open.

“Fuck you,” Baz cries with no particular victim in mind. “Fuck you!”

Baz grabs fistfuls of dirt form the ground beneath him and throws it off at the deer corpse. The scent of the blood in the fabric of his suit becomes almost toxic and it causes Baz to get sick. Barely able to lurch forward, the bulk of his vomit lands in his lap and on his legs. Of course, he can only regurgitate the blood he consumed, so he only further bathes himself in that which has made him feel ill to begin with.

Hesitantly, he stands up, and holds himself against the tree. The trail of animals is clear and it can’t be left that way. He’s going to have to move them or dispose of them. Thinking as quickly as possible, Baz pulls out his wand and points it ahead of him. It’s been months since the ivory source of magic weighed heavily in his hands, the leather feeling more like his second skin than anything else ever has done. Magic courses through him as easily as he blinks or breathes. It is the only thing more second nature to him than drinking.

Spells drip from his bloodstained lips, altering the earth and calling the carcasses to his location. Though he could have moved the dead animals into the pit he created, Baz does it by hand. Somewhere in his brain, he reaped this and so he must too sow it. Each rabbit, deer, raccoon, and squirrel that he’d slaughtered is rolled over the ledge, or kicked, and when the _thud!_ rattles his heart, Baz feels himself grow colder. These animals didn’t have to die.

After Baz fills the pit, he returns to the cemetery. Even though he’s just buried his husband today, he knows the path back to the dark soil covering Simon’s coffin. Flowers and wreaths that normally adorn gravesites do not exist here. Baz requested that whatever money they wanted to spend on flower arrangements go, instead, to the foster care system – and to make the donations in his name. Whenever he could, Simon continued to knit hats and gloves for children in foster care. Children without homes or families to call their own weren’t just some ‘important’ cause to Simon, but a part of who he was as a person. He wasn’t helping them for the warm fuzzy feeling. Simon wanted to give to them because he wished someone had given to him when he was in the same situation.

“Goodnight, Simon,” Baz squawks through tears forming in his throat. Every voice in the back of his head says to lay down right there next to him. The muscles in his body want to rebel against him and just lay there until he, too, dies. “I love you, okay? You know that? I love you so much, Simon Snow.”

Baz makes it back to the flat he once shared with Simon. It took a lot of bribery and many favors to the residents at the time but, in the end, the flat was back in his name. This is where he feels he belongs while grieving the loss of his husband. It is so familiar to him that he dodges furniture that isn’t there as if he never left, as if _they_ never left.

From head to toe, Baz is literally covered in blood. Posed with a hunch in front of the bathroom mirror, the only thin he feels about his appearance is repulsed. Some of it is his own blood, but most of it belongs to that which came from animals he massacred for no genuine reason. Whatever hell is coming – Baz decides he deserves it. Hands twist the knobs in the shower and slides past the sliding door. He lets the water wash away the proof of his weakness, red stained water pooling around the drain.

But with time, the water runs clear.

And with time, Baz’s mind will become clear too.

That, perhaps, is the scariest part.


	24. Xenial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all friendships are genuine.

**Xenial, {xe-neyl};**

**A friendly relationship based more on hospitality and respect than genuine friendship**

* * *

 

Dull lights mask most of the guests’ darkened eyes. Most of these patrons are drunk, delirious, and desperate for something they can’t identify. He’s not sure what brings him here tonight but in the same train of thought, it’s not exactly a mystery to Baz either. Animals weren’t satiating his thirst anymore. It took a few weeks to make the decision but he did decide. Baz will drink from a human tonight.

There’s never been a craving for it, so the choice to do this was shocking for even him. Well, for _only_ himself. With nobody let alive to tell, well, the plan to do this was internal only. Since Simon’s death, Baz hasn’t spoke with another person besides a phone call here and there. Mostly, he gets calls about the company he left to Nadine and Denise. The new management team was made aware of his existence and his situation. Fortunately, they were receptive despite not everyone having magic. The few calls he did take were in relation to new investors and charity proposals. 

“Evening, Basilton!” someone coos, though he knows already to whom the voice belongs. He bites in reply, “Welleblove, didn’t know you were back in London.”

“Have been for fifteen years!”

Agatha slinks closer to him in some sort of low cut pantsuit piece made of leather. “Bar is mine now, in case you didn’t hear that in the mountains.” A snarl forms on Baz’s face but he disguises it as a sniffle. A forced smirk is mandatory in this sort of cordial exchange, and it nearly morphs into a swift punch to her face against his will. Fortunately for Agatha, Baz’s will is all he has remaining.

He lifts his chin and licks his lips very deliberately. “That’s why we went to the mountains, actually. We didn’t care much for the mundane gossip that floats around the filthy streets.” Unimpressed by the quit, she gestures towards staircase leading downstairs. She explains that everything is much the same, though cleaner and clearer. At the mention that patrons can choose to be on the downstairs menu, Baz coughs on the laughter that scratches up his throat. _Who would volunteer for that_ , he asks silently. 

“We have a few young men that I think would appeal to your appetite,” her voice softens and takes on something of a maternal tone. For a second, Baz convinces himself that she is actually his friend and not just bantering with him because they helped her transition from human to vampire years and years ago. Before that, she had a crush on Baz when they were enrolled at Watford. A lot ties them together though not in any significant way. The relationship is friendly but out of familiarity and necessity, almost. Above all else, Baz became a patron of the bar when he walked through the front door. 

Baz breathes in a slow breath. Smoke fills his lungs, dirties his nostrils, and suffocates his thoughts. _What am I doing here,_ the quiet voice that he was ignoring the entire night leading up to this exact moment rattles through the fog. What really was the reason he thought he needed to drink from a human?

“I want you to know that I’m very sorry about your loss, Baz, I really am,” Agatha offers, only tricking Baz more into thinking that she cares about him genuinely. She, of course, squashes that speckled thought from his mind immediately. “I’m here if you ever need me. If you ever need someplace to go – my door is always open for you.” In the end, it’s all about what Agatha wants – what she wants to feel, what she wants to accomplish, and what she wants to _have_. After all this time, the way her eyes sparkle, it’s clear that she still wants to have Baz.

Unwillingly, Baz twists his tongue to form a sentence of gratitude. Then he declines her offer to go downstairs. “Truthfully, I just came for a proper drink. I wanted to get back into the social pool by visiting somewhere that I know with people that I know.” Shifting uncomfortably, the rejection pokes at her perfect smile until it withers from her lips. She was older when she was turned, and the age shows when she relaxes her features. Something about this makes Baz jealous. 

Agatha tells the bartender everything is on the house before she grabs his arm and assures him that he’s welcome whenever – and to never worry about bringing a wallet. Sad about never being Baz’s choice but too invested to care, the broken-hearted Agatha skulks to join her customers downstairs – and, honestly, to get a _special_ drink to ease the pain.

Baz doesn’t need that kind of drink, though, or any kind of drink. He doesn’t belong with these people. He’s been a vampire for nearly one hundred years but he is _not_ a vampire. Ahead of everything, Baz is a _good man_. Simon always told him this and it took him a long time to accept it. Once he did though, there’s been no turning back. 

“What do you fancy this evening, sir?” the bartender questions politely. He is smiling wide, teeth distinctly white against his dark skin. It is inviting but not enough to convince him to stay. Waving his hand, he asserts with more confidence than he’s had in several months. “I’ve actually changed my mind. Have a great night, though.”

Baz drops a crisp hundred dollar bill on the counter before waltzing out of the bar with his hands in his pockets.

Somewhere, he hopes, Simon Snow is smiling at this small victory.


	25. Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon might have seemed ordinary but secretly - he's kind of a genius.  
> And a genius in love is the best kind!

**Yours, {yorz};**

**Something which belongs to you**

* * *

There is a knocking at Baz’s door and while it isn’t unheard of, it is most definitely uncommon. Sporting sweatpants and a jersey for England’s futbol team, he makes no effort to really rush to the door. Whoever it is, though, knocks something like seven more times before he actually swings the door back to greet them. “Yes?” 

“Sorry, ugh, but I’m looking for Baz Pitch?” He’s never seen this guy in his life, at least not that he recalls, and it seems the guy feels the same way. “An older gentleman that I used to write asked me to deliver this to Baz Pitch at this address after he died. He insisted that it was six months after his funeral so I waited but then I was in the hospital, so I’m a little late, but I just need to make sure it gets to Baz Pitch. He said Baz Pitch specifically.”

A name comes back to the forefront of his mind: Hayden. For years, Simon would set up pen pal exchanges between foster children and successful adults who were once foster children themselves. On a weekly basis he would give this lengthy speech about how important it was for children to see that success is within their grasp; that they can be happy and achieve their dreams. One young man that he reached out to, Hayden, was particularly receptive, and it was probably the last pen pal he’d had before he took a turn for the worse. “You must be Hayden,” Baz says, voice full and kind. Simon chose him and that must have been for a good reason.

When the smile etches into his features, curling and twisting lips, and eyes shining at the recognition. He probably doesn’t get noticed often. I bet Simon would have loved his smile. Baz knows he does – because it reminds him of Simon. Hayden lifts the envelope straight up and pokes it forward. His fingers graze the side of the man’s hands. “Wow, your hands really are cold as ice.” 

It’s curious that Simon would discuss Baz in his pen pal letters but he doesn’t question Hayden about it. Instead, he takes the letter and lets his arm fall limply to his side. Awkward silence tries to claw its way into the conversation but Hayden doesn’t let it stand for very long. “He asked that I stay here when you read it.”

Of course he did. Baz pushes the door open and waves his arm behind him. “Make yourself at home, Hayden. Any friend of Simon’s is a friend of mine.”

Auto pilot guides Baz through making tea, and he pulls out the scones that he keeps in the cupboard. The smells remind him of Simon and it makes the home feel somewhat less empty. Hayden surprises Baz by saying that Simon once sent him a recipe for sour cherry scones, like the ones he used to eat from Watford. “I work at a bakery, you see, and I used to make them all the time for the local homeless shelter. So they wanted me to make something on the spot and I couldn’t stop myself from making those scones. I’m pretty sure Simon Snow is the only reason I can say that I’m a pastry chef.”

Baz is certain that his heart stops beating. Simon was such a good man, and often in ways that he never had the chance to see. “Well, if I have the ingredients, you are welcome to make a fresh batch. I don’t normal food very often…” Then he catches himself. He might not know…

“I know,” he says as though he could read Baz’s mind entirely. “Simon didn’t lie to me. Everyone else did but he promised he never would. Besides, it makes sense doesn’t it? A dragon-human hybrid dating a vampire!”

For the first time in a very long time, Baz actually laughs. When his cheeks fall and his body rests, he seems to understand that it’s time to read the letter. He could do it in the kitchen but something about that doesn’t feel very personal. Maybe it shouldn’t be personal? Hayden sees the debate in his face, apparently, and makes a suggestion, “He thought the couch would be a good place.”

* * *

 

_Hello, love._

_Hayden knows everything there is to know about you, just in case you haven’t already figured that out. He’s a very good guy and I trust – trusted – him with my heart. Though I never sent a picture of you, I described our life together in great detail and quite often. Someday, I told him, he would need to know so that he could do me the biggest favor I’ve ever asked: save Baz Pitch._

_Chances are that things have been rough. Overindulging on deer, slaughtering anything that walks funny in the woods, even probably turning to Agatha’s bar. Yes, I know what it’s become. You didn’t think I kept to myself on the computer all the time, did you? Whatever you’ve done, whatever you’ve been doing – I forgive you, okay? I know how much I meant to you because that’s how it felt for me. Unfortunately, you were the only one who had something to lose by choosing me. I never had to worry about that and maybe that was for the better, because let’s be honest – I would have been a mess. I feel greedy and selfish, but I am so thankful that I didn’t have to be in your shoes._

_Forever sounds good on paper but you know too well that forever is too much and not enough all at once. Forever is hell. Nobody in their right mind would want it._

_I am not saying you have to move on, because nobody could ever make you do a damn thing you didn’t want to do, but I still want to encourage you to let go of us. Don’t forget us. Don’t let me slip away from your mind. I would never ask you to sweep me under the rug like a dirty secret because we both know that would be the worst kept secret in history. You can’t lock yourself up in the flat and pretend the world stopped turning when I died._

_Six months is how long I decided you would need to be destructive and miserable. Any longer and you might become the monster that haunts your nightmares. And less and you might self-sabotage your way to certain death. So six months – six months to grieve, rage, and adjust – and now it’s time to stand up and dust off. The pain will never go away but I don’t want the pain to take over everything you have left._

_And, believe it or not, you don’t have nothing. You have memories. You have money. And you have love._

_Please consider this my last request, from beyond the grave, close the book we wrote together and start a brand new one. You have so much to give to this world, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm Pitch, and I would be insulted very personally if you kept it all to yourself in my name._

_Go out for drinks with Hayden. Believe it or not, he has a lot more to offer than sour cherry scones. I hear they’re better than Watford’s. Why don’t you go ask him about it?_

_I love you, Baz. I’ll always be –_

_Yours,_

_Simon Snow_

* * *

 

There is no way to determine when the tears began falling down his cheeks. Each drop came silently and without warning, almost as if he was just leaking. Lifting his chin carefully, Baz glances into the kitchen where Hayden is moving around effortlessly almost as if he belongs there. In a way, he does. Simon wanted him to feel comfortable with Baz and he wanted Baz to accept him without question.

“Thank you,” Baz says as he stands back up, lifting his right hand to wipe the tears away with his wrist. Hayden doesn’t turn but instead calls over his shoulder that it was no problem – anything for Simon Snow. He had – no, he _has_ that impact on people. Everyone wants to be better just for knowing him.

Baz joins Hayden in the kitchen with the letter hanging from his hand. His heart aches a little but he smiles, and he means it. Simon was right, as he sometimes tended to be about these sorts of things, _Baz did not have nothing._ Right now – he has Hayden. “Simon says you changed the recipe.” 

“I did,” he smirks and it is so sneaky. Baz can feel his heart racing. Something tells him just a split second before Hayden continues that there’s about to be a plot twist. “I work for vampires, you see.” 

 _Goddamn it,_ he thinks to himself. Without stopping himself and without feeling guilty, Baz puts a hand on Hayden’s shoulder. _I never deserved you._


	26. Zealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz may be ready to let go but his devotion to the great love of his life is unwavering - and now he can show it for the rest of eternity.

**Zealous, {zel-uh-s};**

**Intense devotion or diligence**

* * *

 

Hayden helps himself to the flat whenever he pleases. More often than not, he comes in to make meals for me and then run errands. I’m not completely ready to re-enter the world without Simon at my side, but Hayden makes the adjustment easier. Today, though, I’m awake when he comes around before work. He is pleasantly surprise to see me standing at the counter. “Good morning, Baz! A bit early for you, isn’t it?” 

I’ve been expecting something in the mail for a couple of weeks and the paper I was waiting on finally arrived yesterday. I’ve not been able to sleep since getting it. When Hayden joins me in the kitchen, he points towards the folded paper in my hand. “What’s that?”

“See for yourself,” I say, hardly about to contain my smile.

The thing is – I’ve not been able to figure out just how much to let go of my life spent with Simon. Always looming in the background has been this fear that I would forget him entirely, or become the sort of man he wouldn’t be proud of anymore. All I want to do is honor his name and his memory. How would I do this while still letting him hold a place in my heart?

I’ve been decorating the apartment with Hayden’s help. Trying to make it mine and to figure out how to do that without letting Simon’s influence become too strong. His stuff can be out, of course, but it can’t seem like he lives her – because he just doesn’t. After Hayden left a month ago, there was a small box of mementos that he set aside for me – stuff that he was going to use to make a scrapbook for me. Hayden likes scrapbooks, way more than he probably should, but I still sleep in Simon’s favorite sweater so whom am I to judge? 

The idea came to me, though, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was perfect.

At the end of the day, I know Simon isn’t coming back. I’ll never forget him, even if I’m scared that I will. Surrounding myself with his presence will only be okay for so long before it becomes damaging. Letting go isn’t about doing what is right for Simon, no matter how much I try to make it about him. Letting go is about doing what is right – for – _me._  

Hayden washes his hands, a habit of his, before he takes the paper and opens it up. He sees the certificate but it won’t make sense until the middle of the page. Years and years ago, Simon and Baz got married. Name changes seemed unnecessary and hardly worth the effort. Baz was Baz Pitch and Simon was Simon Snow – that’s just how it was. We couldn’t really imagine changing our names back then. After all, wasn’t it just a last name? 

Looking over the wedding certificate in that box of mementos for the scrapbook showed me that we were wrong. It wasn’t just a last name. I felt silly for not considering it sooner or just making the change back then. “Would you like to start calling you Mr. Snow?”

A snicker bubbles in Baz’s chest. The professors at Watford always called us by our last names, and a myriad of voices saying ‘Mr. Snow’ fill my brain simultaneously. Images of Simon turning his head, hiding his face, or blanking out in regard to a question also start to cloud my vision. For a few seconds, I don’t even see Hayden. But I still respond. “No, you can call me Baz.”

Hayden nods his head, tucking his chin down and turning to walk the paper to the mementos box on the desk in my office. I follow him instinctually, thinking about how Simon said I should go out for drinks with Hayden. He has more to offer than sour cherry scones, apparently, and I had decided that once I got the paper changing my name that it was probably time to let go long enough to go get those drinks.

“Hey, I was wondering,” I begin, but Hayden seems to know what I’m about to ask. His voice chimes in, melodic and deep in a way that is _not_ like Simon’s at all. “I like Charlie’s pub. They make these beer battered onion rings that are pretty great. It’s my favorite food.”

Smiling nervously, I try to think how it is that he would’ve guessed so accurately. I think back to our conversations – many have been while watching movies in the living room and talking about how awful modern cinema has become – and I don’t recall ever saying that Simon suggested I should invite him for drinks. Then I think about the envelope… 

As I recall, I don’t think I had to break a seal with I opened the letter. I should be offended or hurt or angry, but instead I’m just happy. I’m happy that I don’t have to explain; I’m happy that Hayden didn’t seem to be counting on it; and I’m happy that despite what a train wreck I know I’ve been for the last six months – he’s still come to help me take care of myself without any compensation. “I don’t know anything about you. I mean, not really. I don’t know how old you are!” 

“Old enough to know that grabbing drinks isn’t necessarily a date, and young enough to still be jittery about it,” Hayden laughs. As it turns out, he’s twenty-seven and is the son of a vampire who drank his mother dry. Since there was no conclusive evidence that his mother died of natural causes, Hayden was put into foster care under the assumption that his father murdered her.

Simon Snow had a penchant for attracting the strangest people, and he cared about them with great sincerity. I don’t know if I can be as good to Hayden as Simon was and I don’t know if I’ll ever be as good for him as he is for me – but I think Simon wants me to try.

And I’m halfway there. I close my eyes and perfectly imagine the certificate. 

**_Tyrannus Basilton Snow._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have read this from the beginning all the way to the end, you are the reason that I feel empowered to tell my stories. You are the reason I do not feel inhibited in posting my fanfiction. You are the reason people like me - writers - can do what they love, and in some cases, make a living doing it.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around and reading my silly story. I know for some of my early readers that this story went down a less fluffy path than I'd originally intended, but I hope you enjoyed it just the same.
> 
> Thanks to those of you - specifically accidentallybroken - for making letter suggestions. The participation was much appreciated and inspired me more than you could possibly know.
> 
> Have a good life and maybe, if you liked what you read, you'll read more of my stuff someday.
> 
> Yours
> 
> -ab

**Author's Note:**

> I love my friend othrys/ouranose for her out-of-the-box style, presentation, and delivery of the brilliant stories that she has to tell! I am inspired by her Carry On pieces called "Snowbaz Dictionary" and "Another Snowbaz Dictionary." I highly recommend reading them because they will either make you feel gooey inside or be relatable as all get out!
> 
> However, I need to disclose that her inspiration came from a novel that I have not read myself titled "A Lover's Dictionary" which was written by David Levithan. I want to give all credit where it is due to others. While these characters and the style of the story are not my own, I can assure you the events transpiring in my stories will almost always be unconfirmed canon or original plot lines.
> 
> If you like this story - make a suggestion in the comments for what letter word I'm looking for! I will update which letter I need with each chapter! Otherwise, hit me with a bookmark and a kudos so I know that you're liking what I'm writing!


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